A Thick Line
by LeFay
Summary: Suze learns she might not have identified her feelings as well as she thought. There might be a thin line between love and hate, but there's a thick line between love and lust.
1. I Can't Believe He Saw Us

What if things went differently? What if Suze was just as confused as a certain someone always said she was?

This is my first story on fanfic. I read a lot of The Mediator Series here and review for some of you. Like I said this is my first time so things might not load right and you might be repulsed by my lack of writing skills.

This takes place before Twilight. I will let you figure out the rest. :)

Lyrics are from Sarah McLachlan, "Stupid"

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the Mediator Series or any of the characters that you remember from reading. Meg Cabot owns the good ones, the hot ones, and the only characters worth drooling over. Thank you, good bye!

* * *

I can't believe he saw us.

The one second I let my guard down was the first second of the most disrespecting and regrettable moments of my life. I can remember everything about it. The pure pleasure, the heat, the sin. Everything _he'd_ said, everything _he'd_ done. The way his hands had felt on me. The strange smell of his strange room. The newness of it all had taken me. I'd let it take me.

I felt so completely defeated. There was nothing I could say, no excuse I could make up. He'd seen with his own eyes exactly what we had done. Trying to cover it up, -lying - would only make it worse. If there was anyway to fix this, it had to start from the truth.

But I couldn't fix this. There was no way I could make this right. I'd already burnt the dinner, already cut the wrong wire, already picked 'C' for my final answer to Regis when I should have picked 'D'. I'd broken something I thought was timeless, indestructible. And there was nothing I could do to take it back.

He confronted me. His face was horrible. The pain in his deep irises, the absolute torture that I had caused him was burning me. It poured from his eyes and slithered toward me, crawling into my gaping mouth and poisoning me. Making me feel low. Careless. Dirty.

His mouth shook as he recounted what he'd seen, what he'd heard. It was almost ironic how many times I'd wished to see his mouth speak with so much passion. Just not this type of passion, and not about this type of thing.

I sat there and listened as his words of shock and disparagement filtered into my own mind, making me regret what I'd done. Making me wish I could take it all back, all the feelings, all the excitement. Making me feel totally hideous and unworthy of anybody. Especially him.

What's more is that I hadn't realized how bad I'd been. It didn't register that my actions were anything but normal until now. How could I have been so stupid? Why couldn't I see what the consequences would be? How was I so oblivious to fact that there would be consequences? Why didn't I realize all this then?

I had taken all his words, all his beliefs and rubbed them in his face. I'd spat on them, cursed them, disregarded them as something worthless of my attention, consideration, or interest. I'd succumbed to the one thing he'd always fought. The thing he'd been battling for the longest time, I knew. I was weak, like wet paper. I couldn't survive against the smallest bit of pressure. I had everything to feel ashamed of and nothing to be proud of.

The worst part was that I had let myself down. By giving into him, I'd forsaken how I truly feel. I let the moment sweep me up and left all of my promises and goals behind. All my values, morals, and rules just seemed to melt away the minute _he_ had touched me.

Words cannot described the pain I was feeling. The dead weight in my chest that told me I would never feel happy again. So, so low. The pain I was feeling because of _him_. Because all it had taken was one try, and I'd fallen. I'd fallen so, so far into a place I'd sworn I'd never go. Because of what _he_ made me do. Because of what _he_ let me do. Because of what I _let_ _him_ do.

Because of what I let myself do.

_Night lift up the shades  
Let in the brilliant light of morning  
But steady there now  
For I am weak and starving for mercy  
Sleep has left me alone  
To carry the weight of unravelling where I went wrong  
It's all I can do to hang on  
To keep me from falling  
Into old familiar shoes_

"I am so, so sorry," I said. But it came out chopped up and all congested-sounding. I wasn't sure if he could understand me. I wasn't sure it even mattered.

"I sincerely doubt that," he sneered. He actually sneered. I'd never seen him sneer. His perfect lips and perfect teeth twisted into a sinister form of expression that was so uncharacteristic. Never before had his face ever shown such disgust.

Until I had to go and ruin EVERYTHING.

I sat on my bed with my knees pulled to my chest, squeezing my legs tight against me. I was rocking back and forth, hiccupping from crying so hard. I could taste mascara in my mouth as it ran down from my watery eyes. I'd run a hand through my hair a few times. I'd spent hours putting it in curlers last night to look extra pretty for the student council election speeches. Now it hung limp and lifeless down my neck. A worthless waste of time.

He stood before me, one hand crumpling the fabric of my comforter so hard I new it would be wrinkled for days. His other hand was wrapped tightly around my bed post, the knuckles white. I'd never seen him look at me that way before. I couldn't describe the feelings portrayed on his face. There was only one I could find that looked remotely familiar.

That was betrayal. I'd betrayed my heart and I'd betrayed him. Somehow, in the heat of the moment I had forgotten about him. I forgot the way he made me feel. How could I possibly forget? He was the one who I loved more than I could describe. He was the one who'd saved my life numerous times. He looked out for me, he cared about me. Why - how did that knowledge escape my mind?

Behind him the window was depicting a setting sun. Blue had been erased from the canvas like happiness was erased from my mind. Orange and red streaks of flaming sky illuminated my dark bedroom. Stupid light, it wasn't supposed to be pretty. Nothing was pretty anymore.

Plus that's what _his_ window had looked like.

He leaned closer towards me, a menacing glower to his eyes that scared me. He struggled wit his words. I could feel the heat of his anger. It was almost funny, he never had real heat. But right now I was sure of the evil warmth that was radiating from him. "You...encouraged him," he hissed. At the word _encouraged_ he closed his eyes tightly and seemed to have a mental issue with forming the word.

I cried harder. Because he was right. I hadn't done anything to stop _him_. I'd given in and let _him_ do everything he'd wanted to do for the longest time. I had let my self control run away with the sheer pleasure of everything _he_ was doing to me. I bit down on lower lip hard, so it bled. He saw, but didn't care.

Stupid lips, I hate lips. Lips are horrible.

_How stupid could I be  
A simpleton could see  
That you're no good for me  
But you're the only one I see_

Everything was so horrible now. Free will was horrible. People like me - stupid, weak and horrible people - shouldn't be allowed to have it. I'd proven to the world that I couldn't control myself. I wasn't smart enough or thoughtful enough to be in control of my own actions. Because I definitely wasn't in control when I was with _him_.

"What's worse," he added, just to make sure there wasn't a shred of my heart that hadn't disintegrated. "When you came home, you were...happy!" I sobbed, because it was true. I'd seen myself in _his _car mirror when he'd brought me home. I was smiling; a stupid grin on my face and this retarded sparkle in my eyes. That's how insensible I'd been. How could I not have realized how badly I screwed up?

This entire situation would not be happening if I had realized the consequences of my actions. Why, why had I not seen what I was doing? What had gone wrong in my head to make think that I could possibly let that happen? When had I become so irresponsible?

He clenched the comforter tightly before releasing it. His foot stomped hard on the floor, making me jump and causing more weeping sounds to escape from my mouth. I hate crying. But right now that's all I could do. I couldn't talk, my tongue had malfunctioned long ago. I couldn't close my eyes because when I did all I could see was _him_.

I thought about how I'd felt when I came home. I'd been so idiotic. I'd thought for once everything was right in my life. I thought maybe everything would be okay? How could I possibly think that giving into temptation, that forsaking my heart's true desire could ever lead to a better life?

He walked away from the bed, flexing his fingers then curling them back into fists. He stopped and stood before the window. Colors from the sun setting made a fitting background to his enflamed face. They were the colors of the fire burning my heart. The colors of the fire I'd started myself.

_Love has made me a fool  
It set me on fire and watched as I floundered  
Unable to speak  
Except to cry out and wait for your answer  
But he comes around in his time  
Speaking of fabulous places  
Create an oasis  
Dries up as soon as he's gone  
He leave me here burning  
In this desert without you_

He shook his head, unable to even look at me, that's how low I was. The mere sight of me disgusted him. I bit down on my lip harder, the blood mixing in my mouth. I kept rocking, trying to stop the constricting throbbing in my head. I couldn't see clearly because everything was blurry.

But I saw him point a finger at me and I heard him say, "I don't know who you are, Susannah."

"Jesse!" I wailed, the pain of his words was staggering. Of course he knew me. He knew exactly who I was. I was the one that had forgotten for those few horrible minutes in _his _house. I felt the bullet wounds over every syllable enter my chest and stop me from doing anything. I couldn't even think.

But what he said next made the fire in my heart flare, enlarge to twenty times its size and cause my entire body to stop feeling anything but excruciating agony.

"My name is Hector," he told me. And then he dematerialized.

I shrieked out in pain, sobbing uncontrollably. I wasn't getting enough oxygen. But I didn't care. Oxygen was useless without him. I cried and cried. I'd lost him. He'd left me. I hurt him in the worst way possible. And I had no way of ever making it better. My eyes were working overtime to supply the tears that were sloshing out like waterfalls from my eyes. But crying wasn't enough. I was clawing at my comforter, my legs. I was pulling my hair in frustration and complete misery.

_How stupid could I be  
A simpleton could see  
That you're no good for me  
But you're the only one I see_

Then I was lying on my bed, face down in the pillow, screaming. I was yelling at myself. I was hitting the mattress again and again. Then I was hitting the wood of my headboard. Making the skin on my fists raw and red, trying to give some physical form to the torture that was reigning within me. I kept sobbing, kept wailing. I couldn't stop. Just like with _him_, I was out of control.

I deserve this. What I don't deserve is Jesse. I don't even deserve to call him by that name. I was unholy, I was dirt, I was trash. I was unfaithful not only to him but to myself. I didn't deserve anything good when I was clearly so, so evil.

_Everything changes  
Everything falls apart  
Can't stop to feel myself losing control  
But deep in my senses I know_

I kept crying, not getting up for anything. My pillow was soaked, but I didn't care. Eventually I had to lift my head for air. But I buried my face again after taking a deep shuddering gulp. The air was cold. My face was hot. I couldn't decide what the rest of me felt like because every other part of my body was numb. I couldn't feel anymore. I was broken. I kept my eyes shut tight, not wanting to look at the window where the sky was now black and star-sparkled.

I knew what black looked like, because inside I was black. And that was all I would ever see again.

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So review, tell me what you think. I have more, but I'm not sure if I should post it. Thanks for reading! 


	2. Skipping, Sedation, and Sugar

I want to thank my first reviewers! It means so much to hear your thoughts and voices of interest. This is the first piece of writing that I've ever posted to my peers. Ironically, the only review with anything negative in it came from 'indestructible shelbs' who happens to be my cousin. Ain't that funny, there's blood for ya...but I love her anyways and she knows I'm only kidding.

Now then, I meant to give a title to the last chapter but I don't think I can do that because it is the first chapter. If I can, I'll try but for those of you who care, the last chapter was to be titled "I Can't Believe He Saw Us". I know, creative right?

Well here is the second installment in this story, I think I might change the summary to illustrate an idea that ties in with the title that might not benoticeable to the readers yet. This is not a one shot (hence the update) and I expect at least seven chapters, though I'm shooting for ten. :)

**Discalimer: **If I were our darling Meg I would use the money to buy my baby - a pomeranian - the 600 dollar bed I saw in Dog Fancy, buy my family a new house where my bedroom took up an entire floor, and continue writing the Mediator Series until the day I die. But I'm not and she gets all the credit for anything that seems vaguely familiar.

* * *

The next day I woke up still in my clothes, eyes crusty from crying. I still had that taste of crying. You know even if you cried twelve hours ago there's still a bubble in your chest, like a side effect that hasn't quite worn off. Well I certainly still had a bubble, and it was a big one. I felt exhausted from exerting so much emotion last night. My head was backed up from trying to sort through everything that had just happened in the past twenty-four hours.

My lip was sore where it had split. I ran my tongue over it and felt a deep slash, dragging past my lip line onto the peachy skin below. It was my reminder that my life was over. The cut would hurt, and if it ever healed, I could just split it open again.

I woke up to shouts from Jake, demanding I come downstairs in three minutes or else he was leaving without me. I didn't care. I stayed in bed, playing with the fringe on my skirt that I had slept in. It was wrinkled beyond repair. I could tell without looking that the rest of me must be a mess too, considering I'd fallen asleep without removing any makeup – or what was left of it – and my hair most likely resembled an Afro.

But I didn't care.

I felt so dazed. There was so much to think about, so much to confront. But I didn't want anything to do with any of it. My actions had placed a brick wall in front of me, ten feet thick and taller than I could ever hope to climb. There was no going forward. There was no reason too. I knew what was beyond that wall: a life without Jesse.

My mom came up to my room after Jake shouted his words of departure. She asked what was wrong. It made me want to cry again. Here was this wonderful women standing before me, completely genuinely concerned. She'd had her heart broken. She hadn't done anything wrong and God just decided to take her husband, her love, from her without notice.

And yet she was still living. What's more, she still loved. How did she do it? I wondered. How did she get up in the morning living this new life? How did she find the courage to love again? She was like Wonder Woman.

Her sincerity made my eyes want to cry, but there was nothing left. I'm serious. I had completely cried myself tearless. I tried my hardest to swallow the lump in my throat. It was stubborn, and to be honest, I didn't entirely want it to go away. I deserved that lump. I needed to be reminded of the terrible mistake I'd made.

"Nothing's wrong Mom," I whispered. I'm sure my tone was enough to make her think otherwise. I tried to smile, I really did. I just didn't have the energy…or the will.

"Really Mom, I just overslept," I pulled the covers up higher to hide the dress shirt I was still wearing, "Can you drive me to school?"

My Mom considered me for a moment. She scanned me up and down and her eyes took in a brief sweep of the room. "You're not sick are you?" she asked. I considered agreeing with her. I would much rather stay home and hide in bed today than go to school. Going to school meant seeing _him_.

Of course, staying home meant being home without Jesse – a harsh reminder of how lost I was to him. I don't think I could take that reality slap right now. Small doses: no use gulping the bottle down in two seconds. I would pull the band-aid off slowly - make it sting more.

That's what deserved.

So I shook my head, "No, I just need a shower and then we can go, okay?"

She nodded, seeming convinced that I'd just needed a few extra minutes of slumber this morning. I felt too ashamed with myself to tell her I could use about a hundred more. I thanked her and waited until she'd shut the door to get up.

Slowly and reluctantly I peeled the blankets off my body and sat up. I tried not to, but my eyes strayed to the window seat. The empty window seat. I tried to picture him sitting there. I really did. I wanted to make sure that visual wasn't lost, that my soul hadn't discarded it when I betrayed myself.

But I couldn't do it. I couldn't see him there. How many times had I stared at him as he sat reading or chastising me for my choice in footwear? Why did my memory suddenly go blank now? First I lose my ability to resist; now I lose my memory.

Great.

I somehow stumbled into the bathroom. My eyes betrayed me again by looking in the mirror. My reflection was so horrible now that I really didn't care. What did it matter how I looked? No one worthwhile was going to be looking at me anytime soon. At least, not the person I wanted to look at me.

Still, it was a little disheartening to see the near half hour of time I'd spent on yesterday's make-up application smeared across my face, adding dark shadows to my red and puffy eyes. I'd looked so different yesterday, standing in the bathroom at school, checking myself in the mirror before the speeches and assuring myself that I did indeed look better than Kelly (I did). I felt so pretty that day. I still had that feeling when I came home – until Jesse confronted me and made realize what I had done.

I started the shower and slid out of my clothes. I looked down at the outfit thrown on the floor. I'd spent an hour picking it out, trying to find the perfect top and most suitable skirt for the speeches. The amazing part was that I spent more time writing my speech than I did picking out the outfit. I had really wanted to win. I had really wanted to beat Kelly and be voted senior class president for next year.

Right now though, I really didn't care.

I stepped in to the shower and immediately turned the water temperature up. It was funny; I'd never had the water this warm before. I guess I was just a colder person now. That didn't surprise me. Only cold people could possibly do what I'd done.

I was in a state of sedation. The full shock of what I'd done was still swimming in the recesses of my mind, waiting to attack. I knew it was there, because I knew I wasn't feeling nearly as horrible as I should. By waking up and going about my morning routine, I was trying to hold on to normality as long as possible.

But normality would not last much longer.

When I was done washing the dirty residue off my body I stepped out and wrapped a towel around me. I stood in front of my mirror again. I forced myself to stare this time. I wanted to punish myself. I glared at the stupid girl in the mirror. The one with the repulsively split lip. The one without morals or responsibility. The one who was stupid enough to completely forsake her heart. The small, immature, naïve girl who forgot everything that was ever important to her.

I was that girl now. And there was no use denying it.

* * *

Mom drove me to school. I sat in the back seat and didn't say anything. I should try to keep up appearances. I didn't want her to know anything was wrong. But the energy of lying to her was too great for me to muster. She glanced back at me in the rearview mirror several times, but didn't speak.

I wondered vaguely if she noticed my lip. The cut I'd made last night was so big I'd put three coats of lipstick on to conceal it. It stung like a hornet when I'd applied it but I didn't feel like explaining to her the circumstances in which I acquired this injury. The rest of my face was very lightly dusted with bronzer. Today I'd also opted for a look more like my New York/Pre-Carmel self. Black eyeliner outlined my eyes heavily and I'd purposely smudged it for effect.

Of course the effect was lost with the clothes I had on: a beaded pink tank and a pair of white caprice. Shut up, it's the only thing I had left that was clean. The last thing I felt right now was cheery pinkness.

Mom pulled up in front of the school and stopped the car at the front gate. I'd have to walk around and get a tardy slip from the principle's office. I'd already missed morning assembly and half of first period. Too bad Sister Ernestine lost out on her chance to critique my make-up choice. I'm sure Goth eye style wasn't her favorite.

Oh well.

"Can I drop you here?" my Mom asked, turning around to look at me, "I'd walk up with you but I'm going to hit traffic."

I nodded, "Sure Mom, that's fine," I attempted a smile, achieved a grimace, and got out of the car. I slung my bag over one shoulder and shut the door a little louder than necessary.

"Suzie," my Mom asked, rolling down the passenger's side window so she could talk to me, "What's with the eyeliner? I thought you out grew that."

I scowled. When was eyeliner something you outgrew? Of course, that's not what she meant. She thought I'd outgrown that tuff girl, mad teenager look. Well, sorry Mom but sometimes things don't go your way and you just don't feel like wearing pastel Maybeline Eye Cream in Cheery Pink Polish OKAY?

I didn't say that out loud though. I just shrugged and waved as she drove off, a questioning look on her face. I watched the car dip down the driveway out of the school and make a left on the main road. Then I turned and looked up the mission in front of me.

The building suddenly looked dark and old. It looked boring and worthless. I didn't want to sit in a hot classroom for the rest of the day, pretending to pay attention as teachers drawled on and on about some useless subject. Why should I anyway? What right does the stupid government have to force me to endure something I don't like?

There were too many people in there. Too many faces, too many questions. Too many things I did not want to deal with right now. School was too normal for me now. Normal was gone. I was gone.

I did not feel like being imprisoned. Suddenly school felt too childish, too expected. I had no interest in going. I was a rebel. Those days in New York where I cut class were slowly coming back to me. The careless sense of rule breaking was being resurrected. Of course, this time I wasn't skipping school to help a ghost.

I was skipping school to run from my own ghosts.

Screw school.

* * *

I'm walking down Main Street. There are barely any cars on the road at all. Carmel is a very sleep daytime town. It's only eight thirty and people are already nestled in their workspaces, through with the morning commute and facing another hard day of employment.

I walk with my hands clamped around the straps of my backpack. I'm trying my best to be invisible. I don't what I'm hiding from. I've seen two cars go by in the past half hour. Only one slowed to offer a ride but I completely ignored it.

I was slowly growing hungry. I hadn't eaten breakfast. Main Street opened up into a small plaza with several clothing stores, a Petco, and a breakfast diner. I took my chances going inside and prayed I wouldn't run into a cop or someone who would report me for skipping school.

Inside the diner was dark with only the sunlight filtering through dirty windows. The floor was checkered and all the seats were this ugly retro red, like a sixties diner. I sat at the counter on a spinning stool. Dropping my backpack at my feet and resting my head in my hands I wondered vaguely how I would explain all this.

But that thought was interrupted and easily forgotten when a waitress came up and handed me a menu. She stood waiting as I skimmed over my meal options. I couldn't help but notice how young she was. She couldn't more than a year older than me, barely out of high school. Her uniform was sprinkled with random stains and her makeup was smudged from applying too quickly.

She looked tired and overworked. A quick glance over the counter confirmed my suspicions: she was pregnant. No doubt the guy was gone, her parents disgusted. The waitress job was probably all she could get and school was no longer an option with a baby on the way.

"You ready yet?" she asked after my staring became obvious. I had no right to stare. Women get pregnant everyday. Just not when they're under twenty-one and forced to work minimum wage. It was kind of funny I guess. I was skipping school because I wanted to; she was skipping because she had to.

"Yeah," I shook my head away from those thoughts and randomly picked a combo meal from the breakfast half of the menu, "I'll have the lumberjack special."

She nodded, scribbling my order on a pad of paper with a pen she pulled from her hair. "And to drink with that?"

"Umm, orange juice please," I answered stupidly. I had been shocked by her maternity appearance, but she did seem too happy with my Gothic one. She kept sending affronted glances at my eyes where the makeup was most obvious. I had forgotten what those glances looked like. Since I moved to Carmel, I had been trying to fit in. In New York I tried to stand out.

However, she proved to be very nonjudgmental. When my meal of five stacked pancakes was place before me several minutes later, the waitress sat down beside me. She started playing the sugar packets inside the bowl, building triangular houses with them. I tried to ignore her at first, but when she ran out of _Splenda_ packets I offered the bowl on the other side of me.

"Thanks," she said, taking the sugar packets and adding additions to her architectural masterpiece. "So…skipping school?"

I thought about lying, but since I was willing to bet she was not fulfilling the required amount of education either - I told her the truth, "Yeah, just didn't feel like dealing with it today." I waited, playing with my fork and bits of pancake, wondering what long saga she might be dying to tell me.

In New York my mother and I used to joke about waitresses in empty diners. More often than not we'd find one that was bursting to talk about anything and everything. The type of people that just want to spill their life's story to complete strangers because they feel like it.

"I hear that," she said, abandoning the sugar sculptures and turning to look at me finally. Her eyes were red, like she'd been crying. The sight of her made my own eyes turn salty, but I refused to show any emotion. We sat there not saying much for a while. She seemed to be looking for conversation. The diner's window said it was open twenty-four hours and I sincerely hoped for her sake – and her baby's - that she had not been here since last night.

"So how'd you get out?" she asked, smiling slightly. She had nice teeth.

"What?" I was confused. I got out by leaving.

"Did you fake a note?" she elaborated, "Or disguise your voice and pretend you were your mother?"

I realized she wanted to know what excuse I'd used for getting out of school. Of course, I hadn't used one. I'd just turned around and walked out. When I thought about it I didn't have many options. It was too late to leave a note and there was no way I could disguise my voice to sound like my mother's high-pitched and happy tones.

"Umm…" I bit lip instinctively but the cut from last night throbbed at the slightest bit of contact and I released it. "I didn't really give an excuse. I just walked away." I suppose that part of my rebellion was overlooked. It has been a long time since I skipped school. In New York it was almost every other day.

"No kidding," she said with a low whistle. She went back to her sugar packets, rearranging them into a more rectangular building. After I had finished about half of my first pancake she turned to me again and said, "I could call them and pretend to be your mom."

I blinked. It seemed like too good a stroke of luck to find someone willing to get me out trouble. "Really?"

"Sure," she said smiling again. Without further explanation she got up and walked around the counter, grabbing a phone and pressing it between her shoulder and ear. "What's the number?" I told her and she waited silently as the phone rang her through to the front desk. "Your mother's name, last name, and your name."

I stared opened mouth. She kept starring at me expecting a quick answer. I managed to stutter out, "Uh…Helen Ackerman and Suze Simon."

She nodded, like this was something she did everyday. When the person on the other line picked up she spoke with a voice much more mature and crisp than she'd used earlier. "Yes hello this is Helen Ackerman. My daughter, sweet thing, Suze Simon is unable to come to school today. She has a fever and I don't want her passing on any colds. Please tell her principal, Father Dominic. Thank you."

She stayed online a few moments longer, nodding and making slight murmurs of agreement. When she hung up she smiled at me and I thanked her. That was one less thing I had to worry about.

"How did you Father Dominic was the principal?" I asked, realizing I hadn't told her that bit. I was still awed at her demeanor while posing as my mother. No one – not even in New York – could act that well.

"I used to go to the mission," she told me, writing up my bill, "I didn't spend too much time there." She glanced down at her swelling stomach, "Guess I should have spent more."

When I was finished picking at what was left of my pancakes I paid my bill at the register and left her a good tip – much more than fifteen percent – tucked under a pile of sugar packets.

* * *

Review please, its a small price to pay - much less than fifteen percent:)

* * *


	3. Step Two: Anger

**Disclaimer: Not Meg Cabot. Not even a Meg. Definately not a Cabot.**

**I apologize for the long wait on this chapter. I want to update every week but I had some trouble wiriting this one and it took me longer than expedted. School has started again so as usual, my brain is slowly melting to a puddle of goo.**

**This is THE chapter where everyone wil finally learn...dun dun dun...What Did She Do? However, don't over asses. The Paul part of this chapter was the difficult section because I realized the Paul in my mind is not quite who Meg wrote him to be. Don't we all wish we could just bend the characters to our will? Wait, that's what fanfic's for!**

**So here it is and hopefully the next chapter will be up next weekend. I am very adament about the pairings in the Mediator and I think that will show through soon. Also...you have been warned: There is mild Tree Abuse in this chapter! Avert your eyes if it is too painful!**

* * *

I spent the rest of the day walking. I've never walked so much in my life. I must have shed all the accumulated pounds from my lumberjack special and then some. While my feet protested the rest of me had no problem wondering aimlessly without any direction. The sun overhead did little to lighten my mood but at least provided a nice golden haze to the surrounding world.

It felt good to just do nothing. I didn't have to think about anything or talk to anyone. I could just enjoy living in Carmel, California. It really was a nice town, with its quaint stores and primly cut lawns. Everywhere you looked was a postcard scene waiting to happen. I could finally enjoy everything I had really taken the time to notice.

I had strolled out of the main part of town, down a few side roads and now found myself walking alongside an open field. There were random trees scattered across the expanse of green grass sea. While the road ahead looked tempting, a nice cozy rest beneath a great oak would do me well. My backpack was slowly growing heavier. I could feel my skin becoming slightly crisp from the overhead sun.

I walked off the asphalt road and onto the bumpy ground covered in grass. I didn't know whose property this was but there were no signs so I boldly walked out to the middle. Stopping at the biggest tree I let my bag fall from my shoulders and slumped down against its rough yet comfortable trunk. The ground beneath was squishy yet comfortable and the air had a faint sweetness to it to was relaxing and refreshing at the same time.

I felt so drained. Part of my fatigue must be the walking. But I'm sure the previous night and day's events held the most blame. I didn't want to dwell on it, didn't want to think of any it. I wanted to detach myself from everything real and consequential. I wanted to dissolve into a bubble that contained only this friendly tree and me.

Only then could my stressed brain even begin to understand what exactly had occured. But of course, that had as much chance of happening as going back in time and erasing everything I'd done. Nope…there was no protective bubble. There was just me and Mr. Tree…and a lot of grass. I looked across the field wondering exactly how many blades were growing here.

Everything was so green.

_The biggest difference was his green bedspread. I noticed it right away because it was such a random splash of color in the otherwise completely gray room. I sat down on that bedspread, feeling the soft mattress sink ever so slightly from my weight. From this angle I could take full advantage of the room's gorgeous ocean view. People spend their entire lives slaving away and save for retirement at some resort where they can have this view and he gets it for free at age seventeen._

I felt so energized from the positive response of my speech that I just laughed and fell back, letting myself bounce a little as the bedsprings reacted. I could hear him downstairs, getting drinks and zapping something in the microwave. After all that worrying, it felt good to be here. I was going to learn something new…something about me from someone who was like me.

Nothing bad had happened. I was having a good time. That car ride had been way too much fun, but in a good way. Flying down the road in six hundred horsepower leather interior and those three little letters that made it even better: B M W. I wondered vaguely what that stood for. Maybe 'Brings many women'. Or 'Big Man's Wheels'. I giggled to myself.

He appeared in the doorway, "What's so funny?" he asked, "I know my room's kind of plain, but it's got a nice view." I let my eyes go slowly from his feet to head, noticing the dark washed jeans, the tight fitting polo, and the bowl of popcorn in hand.

He seemed nice enough.

I shook my head, hard. No…no I would not think of yesterday. I would not think of what I did yesterday. Right now I was getting reacquainted with good old' Mother Nature. There was no need to bring BMWs and evil glass houses into the wonderful one-on-one time I was getting with Mr. Tree.

I need a shrink. Seriously.

I looked up through the tree branches that hung high above me, peering through holes between leaves and twigs. There was the great blue sky. It mirrored the vastness of the grass field, only illustrating more wonder and different color. Puffs of pearly clouds floated lazily on their way up north.

I wish I were a cloud. I could just float in the sky all day without a care in the world. No mistakes to make, no relationships to ruin. I would be completely carefree, seeing the entire world from a bird's eye view. I would float over countries, continents and oceans. I could see everything.

And when a stupid girl was playing tonsil hockey with someone she claimed to completely loath with every fiber of her being I would simply laugh from my place in the high sky. If I felt like it, I could rain down on her and drench her in water, shocking her enough to stop her from making the biggest mistake of her life.

Of course, the chances of that girl cheating on a one hundred-fifty year old Hispanic hottie who happened to be dead were about a zillion to one.

But it wouldn't matter because I would be a cloud.

See what I mean about the shrink? Yeah… exactly.

I lay there for a long time, starring wishfully as the clouds past by. They seemed too close, like I could just reach out and touch them. But in reality they were father away than I could ever even hope to reach, like my heart. That was gone now, a million miles elsewhere. It abandoned me the moment I stopped thinking. My heart knew what a terrible person I was, it didn't see the need to stick around and pump blood through someone who didn't deserve to live.

I was wondering how someone like me could be living now that they were without a heart. It seemed like a medical marvel. I should go enroll myself in some scientific study so they can learn more about people without hearts. Then I can tour high schools, warning girls like me not to give in to temptation. It all seemed so boring, not half as boring as being a cloud. Maybe that's why I fell asleep.

_He put the book down and stared at me. I smiled shyly, wondering what was so intriguing that he felt the need to stop reading about something as fascinating as 'astral projection'. Maybe I had something on my face! Oh my God! Now would be the absolute worst time for a zit to appear!_

_"Is there something wrong?" I asked, my voice extremely high. He shook his head, getting up from his chair and sitting beside me on the bed. I tensed up slightly, and I'm sure my cheeks were now making another color of the spectrum present in his green and gray room. I could feel his body heat though he had yet to make physical contact with me._

_"You know Suze," he spoke in a whisper, leaning close to me and maintaining eye contact. Let me tell you, the eye contact in itself was enough to make me shiver – partly from his close proximity, and partly because I was starring into the bluest pair of eyes I'd ever seen. Father Dom had blue eyes, but not like these. Every shard of his iris resonated and pulsed blue. They were like sapphires – I'm sure every guy wants to hear their eyes look like sapphires – and they were reading me like a book. "I didn't mean to leave you up in Shadowland. I was going to help you. Then that Jesse DeDorko had to punch me and I couldn't exactly see straight and…I'm sorry." _

_He said the last bit with his chin tucked down, looking up at me through extremely long eyelashes. They were so perfectly separated and curled at the ends that I absently wondered if he wore mascara._

_I stared at him. He looked so sincere. Yet, it was funny that he would randomly bring that up. After repeatedly discussing this matter with Jesse so many times over the past few weeks I had come to the conclusion that my life had been in mortal peril and the guy sitting before me had done nothing to save it._

_But that look in his face, the honesty and the obvious need to find forgiveness surprised me. After his denial of 'almost killing me' by leaving me up in Shadowland, these were the words any decent person would have said. He wasn't a decent person, was he? Since when did I attribute morality and decency with him? But his face, and the way he was sitting near me, and the 'no touch' zone he'd agreed to all made me start to believe him. _

_"I was really scared," I told him. Confiding more vulnerability than I felt comfortable sharing. But hiding it would have been useless because I'm sure those eyes would have seen it anyway. _

_"I'm sorry," he said, this time speaking right into my ear, "I didn't want to scare you."_

_That's when I felt his hand on my back, gently rubbing it at first then pressing slightly as he leaned in to kiss me. I felt the kiss, like a jolt of electricity shocking me awake. This tasted so new, so…minty. He must have brushed his teeth recently. But still it was a nice kiss and after a while I responded. I couldn't just sit there and let the guy suck on my lips._

_His other hand found my arm and he rubbed his thumb against the soft skin on the inside of my elbow. It was kind of random I guess. I don't recall ever reading that guys like the inside of girls' elbows. But it felt nice all the same so I didn't think too much on it. I was too busy trying to navigate around the numerous senses going haywire. My sense of touch was skyrocketing as I felt every square millimeter where he was touching me erupt in a mixture of delight and awe._

_Then he was guiding me into a horizontal position, still keeping one hand on my back. I way lying on the bed again, my head set between two huge pillows. I let my arms wander experimentally up his buff biceps. They were so hard and smooth and…yum. The hand of his that had been rubbing my elbow's inner side moved up so it was at the back of my neck, lifting my head up to deepen the kiss. _

_I couldn't wrap my mind around the effect his kiss was having on me. It was like I could feel him…psychologically. The want in and desire he was emanating was breathtaking – literally and figuratively. There were seconds when I swear he was trying to swallow me, desperately trying to hold on to this moment. Probably because of the numerous times I had cut similar encounters short. We had not parted once for air. _

_His tongue knocked at the door to my mouth and I permitted entry. At the same I allowed my hands to move inward across his chest. If I thought his arms felt good they were nothing compared to pure God-like sculpture of his pecks and abdomen. Damn his chest felt good. I felt him smile against my lips as I roamed across the masculine expanse created by what must be a very disciplined daily workout. _

_In return I allowed his hands to move from their positions. One worked to keep him slightly elevated over me, to ensure I could still breath although I was definitely not getting the American Board of Health's recommended oxygen quota right now. The other hand, sneaky little thing, was finding it's way under my shirt. I could feel his warm fingers slowly crawling across the hem and finally making contact with my own abdomen._

_I felt it was only fair that my hands begin an exploration of what lies beneath his Ralph Lauren Polo. So they did, and what they found was the most chiseled six-pack any guy - or girl - could ever hope for. Of course, that made his hand slide way up, cupping the lacey under wire of my bra._

_I gasped, not sure what to do. I did not plan for this to happen. When he said we'd talk about 'shifting' I thought he'd meant shifting. I do not recall any tonsil hockey or foreplay mentioned in our agreements. But when he started…um…massaging the contents of that lacey under wire bra and a certain feeling erupted in my head, I decided I was quite fine with our new plans._

_His hands felt so warm where they touched me. I had never been this close to another person before. But to feel this in-tune with such a... attractive guy was new for me. I was Suze Simon, the freak who could see ghosts. But knowing that he could see ghosts too was overwhelmingly comfortable. The biggest barrier of my life, that ever-looming wall that set me apart from everyone else was nonexistent with him._

_Because he was like me._

_The hand that had been holding him above me moved a little so it was entangled with my pre-curled hair. I felt his fingers playing with several locks around my ear, while his lips moved down to my neck. _That_ felt good, way too good. I must admit that a small tiny, slightly embarrassing but ever so justified moan escaped my lips. My hands were now locked behind his neck and slowly raking through his too-soft hair. _

_I felt his knee move in between my thighs as his lips dipped lower and lower. I was spinning, careening into a force of utter bliss that seemed completely unattainable before. As he was kissing that bare skin just above the neckline of my shirt he paused to look up at me. His blue eyes – so blue, much too blue to be considered anything but incredible – gazed into me with a look of complete and utter honesty. I saw no lies there, no deceit, none of the evil actions and intentions I'd previously accused him of having._

_There was also respect displayed in those rings of endless blue. Respect for me as he parted his lips to speak, "You are so beautiful, Simon," I inhaled deeply, trying to swallow his words so I could keep them inside me forever. His voice was barely more than a whisper but I heard him loud and clear. I also heard the sincerity. I heard the truthfulness._

_He kept looking at me, using the power of silence to convey the feelings he had for me. I felt it all in that one stare. Everything he'd ever said about us being together was all true. No one could look at someone the way he was looking at me and have an evil hidden agenda. This completely scrumptious boy picked me to like, to pine after. He moved to a different state to be near me. While that part was a little freaky, it still had meaning. He pulled his hand out from under my shirt and brought it to the side of my face, cupping my cheek and making soft strokes with his thumb. _

_He finally closed his eyes and gave me a slow, deep, passionate kiss that had me responding in a way I never knew I could. Did he light a candle recently because I swear the bed was on fire. I was on fire. His hand was back up my shirt in no time as our mouths resumed their earlier actions of intense tonguing. His knee pressed higher in between my legs, intruding on a very forbidden part of my anatomy._

_My God it was hot in here! I could feel my temperature increasing with every millisecond that passed by. His knee pressed higher. My head was spinning, I was spinning, and the room was spinning. All these new feelings fought to be processed inside my mind. His knee moved again, sending a pleasing sensation to my body. _

_In the heat of the moment - as my hands ran through his hair and down the muscles of his back, dragging deep against his skin and his mouth sent trails of fire down my neck and across my collar bone, my lips parted and uttered through a sigh of pleasure, "Oh, Paul," - I thought I might have possibly seen a glimmer of blue out the corner of my eye. _

I woke up sweating. For a minute I couldn't remember where I was. There was something rough and hard up against my back and whatever I was sitting on felt slightly damp and squishy. Why was it so bright out? Why did my lip sting? And what was that smell?

Then I realized I was outside. The hard thing was a tree and the ground beneath was a little dewy and the smell was simply that great outdoors scent that I didn't inhale too often. I skipped school; I was outside sitting under s tree.

And I was mad.

My subconscious decided to force me into reliving yesterday's events. I saw them in detail. I could even _feel_ his lips on mine again. And they felt absolutely horrible. Instead of the soft, caring feeling I'd been tricked into receiving I felt dead weight on my lips and blood slipping through the cut because I was biting so hard.

I hated him. I hated him for making me feel that way. The way I'd felt on his bed with him on top of me: so wanted, so pretty. It was like he knew exactly what my low self-esteem was missing. Like he knew that Jesse never made me feel any of those red hot reactions because Jesse never permitted himself to make contact with me anywhere other than…well nowhere.

He'd found my weak spot and used it to get me to give in. He used me. How dare he! He had no right to simply make me feel so wonderful only so it could all come crashing down and make me feel so utterly atrocious. The pain I felt last night as I cried myself to sleep was conjured from the happiness I'd shared with him. To go from being so happy to so guilt ridden and depressed made my head spin out of control.

I was up off that tree, grabbing my bag and kicking a stupid rock that dare lie in my way. If that rock thought it could stop me, it had another thing coming. Of course, my toe was considerably smaller than said rock so I picked it up and hurled it at the tree. Stupid tree!

I trudged across the field, cursing the uneven ground the entire time. When I was back on the road and baking under the sun, I was cursing the sun too. Why did it have to be so freaking hot! I wasn't in the mood for hot. I'd felt enough heat to last me a lifetime. So that damn sun should just scram!

I marched back into town, noticing from the throng of people and cars that I must have slept pretty long. It was now five o'clock judging from the giant sign in front of the Carmel City Bank. I didn't care though. I pushed past people and shoved and grunted and received a lot of that in return. I jaywalked across streets and heard car horns beeping in protest.

But none of that slowed me down. All I could think of was him and that day replaying in mind. Him, giving me everything I'd been denied and making me believe it was all sincere and true. His evil eyes made of frozen ice boring into mine, reading me and knowing in that one look everything I wanted.

And I'd let him. I'd let him take me, mind and heart, away from everything I valued. I'd let him touch me and kiss me and say things that I should never have allowed. All the while he knew what I would face when I got home. He knew that sooner or later I'd feel guilty. But that didn't stop him. He didn't care what happened to me. He just wanted to cop a feel.

My mind was leaving step one of the grieving process – sadness – and heading full speed ahead to the next hurdle: anger. I was no longer depressed and weepy but energized by a red-hot fire searing through me.

Paul is a jerk. I'd known that much when he left me in Shadowland. After he transferred I was even more assured. Paul was a pretty little rich boy who had everything – EVERYTHING – handed to him on a silver platter. He was used to getting his way and never had any problems with anything. He was arrogant, rude, ignorant, conceited, and always – ALWAYS – had a hidden agenda.

I'm not sure whom I was angrier at: him or myself. But right now it felt good to pass the blame to another person. I could make him out to be the most horrible thing I could imagine in my mind if I wanted to. I could erase every good thing I'd thought of him and replace it with the evil truth. I'd blamed myself for everything, but that wasn't entirely fair. It takes two play to that game.

And Paul had been playing right along beside me – or well…on top of me.

After sending a dozen dirty looks to who ever looked my way I finally reached my destination. It was a shady looking shop set in the corner of Main Street Plaza. I'd noticed it a few times, mostly while driving by, because it looked so out of place. It was basically a teenage junk shop. Kind of like Spencer's, but with less Halloween stuff. Normally I wouldn't want anything to do with a store like this. Those days for me were over.

But Paul had awoken a side of me that had been dormant for a very long time. I needed something now, something my mom had thrown away long ago. I don't know what I planned on doing with it exactly. But I just felt the overwhelming urge to feel it in my hands again.

The sign above the store was outlined in a cheap lighting, two letters falling to the left and bird dudu speckling the ground. It was a dump, yes, but hopefully a dump that had what I needed. The entire time spent approaching the shop from across the parking lot allowed my mind to scream out in utter fury at him. Paul was the type of person mothers should warn their daughters about. Not the drug dealing, potty-mouthed, high school dropouts but the good smelling, straight teethed, Ralph Lauren wearing future politicians that were most dangerous to young girls.

I found what I was looking for on display in the glass case by the register. They were lying next to a set of belly-button rings. From the dim overhead light the coating gleamed and sparkled. The multi-pierced boy behind the counter raised an eyebrow at my appearance but said nothing. "How much are the brass knuckles?" I asked him. He used a key to unlock the case and took them out for me. The price tag said thirty-six fifty. I had forty dollars in my wallet that was in my backpack.

"I'll take it," I told him, getting my money out. The kid shrugged and began ringing up the order. I allowed myself fifteen seconds to feel lucky that I'd found what I was looking for. But I was careful to dismiss the thought; for fear of the last time I'd felt lucky.

Stuffed in a box next to the register was a group of key chain Furbys. Those stupid little things that were the biggest selling toy in the country like two years ago. I got one for Christmas the year they came out. All I can remember is how annoying it was. It never shut up, even when the lights went out, and my Furby was stupid because it only ever talked in 'Furbish' and never graduated to English. Needless to say, my Furby found its way into a Salvation Army box not long after February.

But looking at the box of stuffed gremlin-like fur balls I noticed a big gray one with blue eyes. It was starring at me. The rotten little was starring at me with it's big blue eyes as if taunting me, forcing me to think about a certain someone else with big blue eyes. I swear I saw it's mouth turn up in a grin as I glared back.

"Is that all?" the voice of the cashier broke me out of my trance and regarded me questioningly. I'm sure I looked like heck, with my makeup smudged and lip bleeding freely, starring transfixed at a Furby.

"No," I said vaguely, "I'll take this too," I handed him the Furby and he stuffed it in the bag with the brass knuckles. I'm sure my purchase of a child's play thing didn't help my strange actions and appearance. But I really didn't care. I grabbed the bag the minute my change was in my hand and rushed out of the store.

I ran behind the building where I could have some privacy and took both purchases out of the bag. I slid the brass knuckles down my fingers, revving in the feel of cool metal against my skin. I was holding power, the power to inflict serious bodily injury on anyone who might dare to cross me.

Then I took out the Furby and set it above a crate that was stacked against a wall. I lifted my hand, clenched my fist and shot it forward, knocking those stupid blue eyes right out of the Furby's head.

Except in my mind it wasn't a Furby; it was Paul.

* * *

**There you go. I hope it wasn't too bad. Please review. If you liked it - tell me WHAT you liked. If you didn't - tell me why!**


	4. Smashing Mouths

**Bonjour mes amis! I am so so so soooo sorry this chapter took so long. It was complicated to write and also the first chapter that really had anything to do with the development of a plot. **

**Disclaimer: Not a Meg. Not a Cabot. Not a Meg Cabot. Not a cat person.**

**I have also decided to use this chapter to respond to my reviewers. I didn't do this earlier because a). I didn't have time b). I have bad personal skills and c). It used to annoy me when writers took up half the story to thank the people who reviewed and you thought you were reading a ten page update when really, you were only reading five paragraphs.**

**But it's the fourth chapter now and I just got my first acknowledgement as a reviewer in a story that I reviewed so now I have new faith. These acknowledgements will incorporate any questions or comments that might have been made over the past three chapters – if those questions have not been answered already.**

**Mrs. Nikki Slater: Thanks. And no, we don't want to kill Paul, we love Paul! Paul is just a little slow when it comes to…. almost everything not pertaining to himself. Lol, and I don't plan on incorporating Gina in this story. It won't be that complex. But it was a cool idea.**

**White Destiny: Thank you for the compliment. The story was a little slow to start. I just had this idea of "… I can't believe he saw us" mulling around in my head and one night – while watching Jay Leno for some reason – I just sat down and wrote it. Of course half of the original was eaten by my computer but…yeah…thanks again.**

**Special Thanks to: Katie, Kate – you two might be the same ppl, both were unsigned so just to be sure, I'll thank both – Tangopepperoni, moo, Blank Expression, Loves It, Suze Madison, and Addy.**

**Pixie Pam: Thank you thank you! I wanted it to feel deep, almost too deep because I find one of my weaknesses in writing is not going deep enough – I realize that sounds incredibly wrong out of context. So I wrote and posted this mainly to practice adding depth to my character's feelings. I'm glad people are noticing. That first chapter is my favorite too. **

**Starrynightdreamer: I LOVE long reviews! You rule! I thank your fingers greatly for their exemplary typing efforts! I loved the idea of putting a mark on her lip. It's her lips that have caused her so much pain emotionally. It made sense to me for them to have a physical pain as well. They're a metaphor for her actions. I think its my favorite piece of imagery in this story – sad huh, a split lip causes me this much joy. But it deforms Suze's face and she says how much of an important reminder it is yet she covers it up with make up – I know they hurt like a b!tch! I had wicked chapped lips right before my Christmas concert from playing outside at all those football games. Right after the concert it split and bled – really gross, my reed was red. I've never actually seen an episode of Wonder Woman, but I'm active in promoting women's rights – I DO shave my legs though. I was shooting for the Steps of Grief. They are: . As far as Jesse and Suze's relationship goes I guess somewhere in Haunted. They have kissed. And they both know subconsciously that they each have feelings for each other. But Jesse is still being a prude, lol. You will soon find out how Jesse knew where to find her. I'm quite happy with myself b/c I couldn't come up with a reason until recently.**

**Cheezit: So nice of you to ask for more, and to review for each chapter. I wrote the part about what happened between Suze and Paul as detailed as I could get. However, you don't know the WHOLE story yet. Yes, she saw a glimmer, but she did not stop because of that. I will leave you with this: '…its probably not what you think….', of course I don't know what you think so I could be wrong. **

**The indestructible shelbs/Shelbina the great: Umm..of course I want the coffee! I LOVE the coffee. COFFEE is wonderful! Coffee is my bestest friend – sorry Kristen – hehehehe. Coffee is the only thing that assures me your mother and I are related!Anyways…All the 'he's' in the first chapter were supposed to be sketchy. I didn't want you to know who she did what with and who was mad at her until the very end of the chapter. Now, I'm sure you and your smart little brain can figure it out. Yes, the plot line is unclear because it was unclear in my head. As we know, almost everything is unclear in my head. But now my little freckled friend, it is perfectly clear. Clear as the tears pouring from Gus's eyes when you said I couldn't give him a sweater as a Christmas present (for those of you unaware, Gus is a dog). For some reason now I REALLY want a pair of brass knuckles…whispers my birthday is in 29 days! Hint hint! Yes, Suze would get angry because she always got angry in the books anyways. That's why her mom sent her to all those therapists because she had 'anger management issues'. I still have my Furby – I have detatchment issues…no, mom, no - you can't put my Tie-Dye Doodle Bear in the yard sale…MOM! Anyways, I have a name for you and I will post it here because you barely answer my emails: Iluvfroggy…or depending on what mood you're in: Iluvducky!**

**Go be Smab darling…tres Smab!**

**Now here it is!**

* * *

"Mom," I spoke into the pay phone, winding the cord tightly around my fist. The brass knuckles were still looped on my fingers, pumping volumes of power in my veins. There was a smudge of gum or some other unidentified substance on the window of the phone booth. I wanted to smash it, the window, the gum, and my life. Mostly I just wanted to hit something. 

"Susie?" Mom answered me. I could tell she was shushing someone in the background. It sounded like Andy, "Honey where did you go after school?"

I held back a snigger. Where did I go after school? I didn't even GO to school. Ha! School is just beyond me. I am a rebel. I had no regards for rules! That's right mom, I am living life on the wild side. Look out Carmel!

I don't know why I found this entertaining; I was lying to my mother again and fighting an overwhelming urge to shove my fist through a glass window. "I went over CeeCee's house. We got this last minute project and I need to stay over tonight to finish it. Is that okay?" Apparently my lie making skills were moving developing very quickly. Before, when I used to cut class, I never made up an excuse – I just did it.

My voice came out with a forced happiness. My winding of the cord got tighter and my fingers where slowly turning purple. She was going to notice. How could she not hear right through my fake plans and realize that I was lying? This was all way too easy. My mother was a pro at lie detecting.

"Oh, okay honey," she seemed to be contemplating the factors, "Do you have clothes and anything else you might need? Do you want me to drive a few things over to CeeCee's house?"

"No," I inserted loudly, "That's fine. Cee will let me borrow some of her clothes. We just really want to finish this project on time." Funny how I use school as an excuse for skipping school. Well, at least skipping going home from school and…yeah, I'm making no sense.

"Okay," she spoke slowly. She must be catching on. There was no way she could miss this. I wasn't exactly the prodigal child. I was known for breaking the rules where school and nighttime outings where involved. Usually they also involved the police. However, my mom had been raising Brad for the past year and a half. Perhaps her scale of judgment where I'm concerned had been thrown due to Brad's complete lack of ability to be trusted. "Well, I guess I'll see you tomorrow after school, then. Sleep well."

"Good night," I said, astonished as she hung up. I never thought I'd see the day when I'd get away with ditching school AND lying about where I was spending the night. Talk about luck. Of course, luck always came for me at the worst times. Never when I really needed it.

I hadn't told CeeCee any of this, of course. I just had to hope that Mom wouldn't be calling her house for anything. As long as that didn't happen, there was no reason why CeeCee needed to know that I had lied about spending the night at her house. It was a pretty good story if I do say so myself.

I banged my way out of the phone booth, over to a wooden fence lining the sidewalk. BAM! My fist shot forward and forced the brown colored wood of the fence to part and make way for the unbreakable brass knuckles. By know my fingers where scratched and splintered. The fence now had a lovely jagged hole when I pulled my fist out.

BAM! I made another hole. I could keep going, making one hole for everything that was wrong in my life, resulting in quite an interesting polka-dotted fence. But I didn't. I found a huge garbage dumpster at the end of the sidewalk in a small parking lot. All that green (A/N: I'm talking about those huge industrial bins for garbage that the big trucks have to lift up with machines. In Massachusetts at least, they are always green). BAM!

BAM!

BAM!

And then I was running. I was speeding, careening, dashing and darting between people, around benches, past cars. I was sprinting across streets, tearing up hills, and forcing myself the rush through throngs of shoppers and passer-byers. My knuckles stung, my feet were soar. I hadn't run this much in a long time. But I had to.

Suddenly it all became too much for me. I saw my hand go through the wood and realized exactly what I'd been reduced to. My anger was controlling me. It was making me do things I didn't want to do, things that seemed to be the only way of coping with the pain. They say when you have a headache, or something hurts you, if you create a new pain, a bigger wound or deeper cut, that will cancel out the feeling of the first pain. I saw it on House.

But punching a fence wasn't going to make my pain go away. It wouldn't bring Jesse back. It wouldn't solve any of my problems. It just made my hand hurt.

Now I was lying on the beach, hidden in the small cluster of rocks where I fought the RLS Angels less than a year ago. The last thing I can recall is knocking the shit out of that Furby, and then leaving dent holes in a nearby garbage bin and fence. After that everything is just a blur as I ran through town, heading for the one place I knew I could find solitude.

I ended up here, having tripped down the narrow path and now lay, cradling my arm that had taken the brunt of the fall. Why was I so stupid? Why did I have to run down that hill when I knew I could barely see let alone negotiate a steep sandy decline?

But I was always stupid. Always had been, always will be.

The anger that had fueled me before was gone. It had evaporated like morning fog, laying on so thickly then burning away to nothing. I was dead tired. After such a rough sleep the night before and a mad sprint through the town, any energy that had previously existed in me was gone.

I spread my arms and legs out in the sand, feeling the tiny grains scrape gently against my skin and become tangled with my hair. The sand was cool, it was now nighttime. Somewhere in the sky there was a moon, but I couldn't see it. Either the high rocks on either side of me were blocking the view, or there simply was no moon tonight. Funny how that can happen. The light can just take a night off.

I always hated that salty sea smell. It was too fishy and made me gag. But tonight I found it calming, distracting the rest of my senses and allowing my throbbing head some peace. It was all just too much. This must be what people feel like before they have nervous breakdowns.

I was so tired. I could hear the ocean from where I was, lapping quietly at the shore. I closed my eyes, trying to pretend I was home in my bed, happy, sleepy, and well fed. As a single tear fell from my eye, I finally curled up, settled my breathing, and went to sleep.

* * *

Gray. 

Everything was gray. The sky, the clouds, the building's side in front of me. The tombstone behind me. It was as if some mythological being had flown through the Mission Academy's east end and peeled all the color from the scene. It's a morbid thought really, slowly and painfully extracting the beauty from something. A star would not be as pretty if it was painted a dull slate color. A leaf would have no symbolic meaning if it weren't green and vibrant.

I was sitting on the ground at Jesse's grave, leaning against the tombstone I'd bought and engraved. Well, sure the Tombstone Sales Guy had done the actual engraving, but I was the one who came up with the words. And believe me, if you ever meet Tombstone Guy, you'd know he couldn't put a sentence together to save his life. I guess that's why he chisels rocks for a living.

After waking up on the beach to a dreary and fog covered morning I'd wiped my eyes, torn my gaze away from the ever superior grand Pacific, and made my way here. I don't know what made me come here. I suppose this was the closest to Jesse I could get without actually being in his arms.

…In his arms. I shuddered at the thought that I might never find myself there again. I pulled my knees up to my chest and hugged them to me. My state of being was probably offensive. I hadn't showered. I smell. My hair is either sticking straight out at random angles or hanging onto my scalp by a thread. My clothes have somehow changed color due to excessive dirt. I hadn't seen my face in hours but whatever make-up I'd applied had most likely rubbed off my skin a long time ago.

I ran my tongue over my split lip subconsciously again and again. There was no lipstick left. I knew that. The cut was swollen, most likely pussy and hurt like hell. Adding my own saliva to the mixture didn't help. But it made me feel better. I was being punished. At least there was some natural order to my life.

I could hear faint sounds of learning coming from the school. It seemed so surreal. To be at school, but not really _being _there. The only part of me capable of learning was somewhere else at the moment. Actually, that portion of my brain had been on hiatus for a long time because if I were capable of learning from my mistakes I wouldn't have done what I did with Paul.

That was the first tear. God, if I hated crying before, I _loathed_ it now. As if I wasn't vulnerable enough, not detached enough, I had to be crying again. In addition to being able to speak to the dead, I must have the supernatural ability to produce vast amounts of tears. People on Soap Operas didn't do this much crying. Johnny Depp's heartthrob performance of Cry Baby didn't involve this much waterworks - Well, actually, he barely cried at all. But the point is I should have moved on from crying and graduated to another form of emotional exertion by now.

Whoever said 'be careful what you wish for' should be canonized and have a country named after them. Because different forms of emotional exertion can come in the most unwanted ways.

Of course, I didn't notice him until he was standing less than four feet away from me – much too close for my liking – I was busy biting what was left of my nails and silently pouring out my overwhelming supply of saltwater.

"Suze?" Something snapped in my head. It wasn't just my neck twisting with amazing reflexes to the direction of the sound, but there was a chemical reaction going off inside. A toxic mixture of fear, anger, and shock began approaching boiling temperature. That catalyst for that reaction was the sound of my name, spoken by –

"Paul," I barely got the word out. It was more like a breath of air exhaled in fear from my mouth while my broken lips formed the word in shock. I blinked, several times. I was dreaming – no, not dreaming. I was having a nightmare. This was not happening. He was not standing in front of me now. I was not looking at the boy I had allowed to transport me to place I thought so wonderful only for him to dump me back in reality to face the life-ending consequences alone.

He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it. I could see his eyes taking in my appearance. Yeah, I don't exactly look like the student council nominee you slobbered over two days ago, do I? This is the secret side of feminism that women go to great lengths to hide from the male portion of the population: no make-up, no styling products, covered in dirt, and crying.

I am failure, I know. Let's not rub it in.

But his face as he took in the sight before him repulsed me. At first he seemed okay, happy almost to find me here. Then he looked, for lack of better term, disgusted. What RIGHT did he have to be disappointed at my appearance? It was not my job to please him. Shallow wouldn't come close to describing Paul. Apparently, he only liked the super model/Barbie reincarnations/painted to perfection girls.

Well, I kind of knew that already.

But it still hurt. I knew the thoughts I'd had of him while we were in his room were false and foolish, but being reassured of the errors in my thinking by watching Paul's face fall to almost one of embarrassment just ignited something in my mind.

Paul had taken enough of my dignity. He'd stolen my heart, pulled my pride and morals right out of me and stomped on them. He'd caused me enough trouble. He was NOT going to make me feel even lower than I felt right then – if that was even possible, which it probably wasn't. But let's just go with it for now.

Instead of voicing my thoughts of outrage I remained quiet, still hiccupping through tears that did not come with an off switch. I tried to further my shifting abilities by melding through the tombstone behind me. Anything to get away from him since my legs had obviously taken a vacation.

When that didn't work I bit my lip and did my best to remain silent, praying that there was some chance of success in the 'ignore him and he'll go away' plan of action. But when had that plan ever worked with Paul?

I stared at the sky, the trees, anywhere but at him. What was he doing he here? Did he not know how horrible the sight of him made me feel? I suppose he probably didn't. When he dropped me off at my house I certainly hadn't given him any indication that I hated his guts. Or, _still_ hated his guts, since I had made that perfectly clear on numerous occasions before the events of two days ago.

I was desperately trying not to notice as he slowly approached me. It didn't work, because as his proximity to me got smaller I got smaller, shrinking back as far as I could go. He stopped when he noticed this. I heard him breath a frustrated sigh through his nose. It wasn't snotty or anything, just gave the impression that he was irritated.

"Is something wrong?" he asked cautiously, trying to catch my eyes. "You're lip is bleeding." I had my head turned away from him and my chin tucked low against my knees. I refused to look at him. If I did, I'm not sure what would happen. Why he noticed my lip I'm not sure. Although, he was probably looking in that general direction.

He sighed again, obviously not expecting my cold shoulder treatment. Well sorry Paul, I wasn't expecting to have my heart ripped out forty-eight hours ago. I could hear him shift his weight between feet, hands in his pockets no doubt as he tried to assess the situation and find a way to make it work for him.

Let him try.

"Look Suze," he spoke slowly, unsure of what to say. This was new. Paul always knew exactly what to say. "I…um,…you weren't in school yesterday and I was kind of …well, I wanted to talk to you about what happened at my house," he paused, realizing there would be response from me.

But Paul is not one to stand back and give up. No, he keeps pushing it until he gets his way. He's always adding more straws to the camel's back, just waiting for it to break. So he crouched down, squatting on his heels. He inched forward subtly, trying to get within my field of vision.

"Damn it Suze," he snapped. The outburst made me flinch, I'm sorry to say. I had hoped he could just stay quiet, but no…of course not. "What's wrong? I tried calling you. Your mom said you were at CeeCee's house. Then you don't show up for school, two days in a row, now you're ignoring me. Are you avoiding me? Is that it?"

Frustration and anger at his accusing tones made me turn my face to look at him. After taking in his now familiar curly brown hair styled to perfection, the buff arms that fit so well beneath his button down shirt, and hands that were paused mid air en route to me, I was shocked. There was something in his eyes.

Was that concern? Genuine concern from Paul Slater? No way, it's not possible! When Paul was a baby someone hot-wired his brain. Their actions ensured that Paul could never feel sympathy for another human being.

Ever.

So why was he looking at me like he was worried? Why were his lips parted in a slight 'O' of curiosity? Why was his left hand aiming towards my cheek, fingers cupped so they could gently caress my skin? Why did he appear honest, like he wanted to understand? Why did he look like he just wanted to hold me?

Probably so he could feel me up.

But why, then did he lean forward so he was on his knees, inches in front of me, and place a hand gently on my shoulder? Why did he take his free index finger and lift my chin so my eyes were forced to meet him? Why did I stop crying, just getting lost in his baby blues and suddenly want to tell him everything.

My tongue was so close to spilling out everything I'd done since I was last with Paul. I wanted him to know that Jesse knew. I wanted to tell him how lost and angry and hurt I was. For a split-second, I want him to hold me.

But when he lowered his head to kiss me and the grip on my shoulder tightened and I realized that all Paul would ever want is a pair of lips, every hopeful thought I'd had was gone. Everything blurred together, a mix of disappointment in myself and in Paul. I suddenly hated my mouth, hated the fact that I had lips and they never seemed to attract the people I wanted. Someone should just smash them off.

I should have known better than to think he was being nice. Why do I NEVER learn? Paul was the reason I was sitting on a grave crying my heart out, and I had thought I could trust him? Talk to him? Confide in him?

Someone must have hot-wired my brain as well. But when things finally snapped back together my eyes opened wide, my mouth found my tongue and I was screaming. "Get off me!" I roared, pushing him away and watching him fall backwards, rolling down the slight incline of Jesse's grave. "Get off me, get off me." I repeated my phrase, trying to make up for all the times I should have said it two days ago.

"What the-" Paul began, a shocked expression forming on his face.

I cut him off, yelling as loud as possible to be sure he heard me, "Stay away from me!" I was trying to stand up, slipping because my legs were shaking so badly. I grabbed onto the tombstone behind me for support. How morbid is that? Using the marker of a dead person for physical support? I cut my hand on the rough edge of rock as my feet continued to give way under me.

Paul had used those amazing reflexes and shot up to his feet just fine. I tried not to look at him as I leaned heavily on the tombstone, trying to find my balance. I didn't want to see his face. I didn't want him to see mine, the perfect painting of a ruined girl: self-ruined.

Paul was foolish though, he approached me again, walking super cautiously to my limp form. "Suze, what's wrong? You cut your hand. Let me see."

"No!" I screamed, crying, crying, crying. That's all I ever do nowadays. "Stay away from me!" I lifted both hands in front of me, noticing that one was red and covered in a slightly sticky substance. I couldn't register in my mind exactly what that liquid was. Everything around me was blurring from the tears. Nothing made sense anymore. Nothing had made sense for a long time.

"Suze what happened? Why are you so upset? Should I get someone?" Paul's complete obliviousness thwarted me. How could he stand there and not realize that HE was making this situation as bad as it was. It was his mere presence that I couldn't stand. Why couldn't he just leave?

Leave.

Like Jesse.

"He left me!" My voice got so loud and desperate that it scratched my throat. I felt like I was dying. Admitting this devastating information to the one person I truly hated caused a break in my thoughts of reason. I was yelling, screaming, coughing, and choking on my own sobs. An overwhelming, asphyxiating amount of emotion was flooding through my mouth. Every fear I'd ever had of losing Jesse was turned into hatred – and the reason I ended losing him was because of myself. All the anger I felt towards Paul, and the pain of losing every happy thing I'd felt at his house turned my insides to fire.

In my mind I saw myself, cut and bruised standing on a grave. I was being washed away by a flood, thousands of gallons of water rushing in and carrying me away. Where did the water come from you ask? My own tears.

"Suze," I had almost forgot Paul was there. His voice seemed far away, like there was a wind tunnel separating us and someone had turned the air current up to a dangerously high speed. "Something's wrong... Do you want me to get Father Dominic?"

"Are you happy NOW!" I screamed at him, relishing in the obvious flinch he exhibited and completely ignoring whatever it was he had said. "Jesse saw us at your house! He saw us and he left me! He doesn't want anything to do with me! He hates me!" I couldn't breath. I kept trying to take short, quick gasps of air, anything to fill my lungs with the much-needed oxygen. Is this what hyperventilating felt like? My head was pounding, my hand hurt, my lip hurt, my chest hurt.

"He's gone!" My voice, this time, came out as a whisper. I just wanted everything to stop. I wanted to stop. Stop feeling, stop standing, stop living. I needed Novocain, lots and lots of Novocain. Please, anything to stop this feeling. I couldn't live inside myself. Life wasn't worth it if I had to wake up and feel this. "He's gone. He's gone."

"Jesse!" Paul spat, obvious antipathy in his voice. "This is about him! God Suze, you weren't even thinking of him at my house! I know you weren't! Just because El Dumbo Jesse –"

That's when my fist collided with Paul's jaw, giving a whole new meaning to the term 'right hook'. It also happened to be the fist that was still grasping the brass knuckles from yesterday. I heard a satisfying crunch as Paul flipped backwards, landing on his ass, hand clenched against an already swelling jaw. I could see blood.

I don't know what made me do it. Maybe it was Paul saying Jesse's name. Maybe it was hearing Jesse's name said by someone other than me. Maybe it was knowing that he was completely right – I hadn't thought of Jesse once while with Paul that day.

"Why couldn't you have any respect for what I wanted?" I asked him loudly. Then, lowering my voice and looking away from him, almost not believing what I was saying, "What did I ever do to you?"

Then I started running.

* * *

**I'm not at all happy with the ending of this chapter. Not the Paul absuse part - that will fall in line perfectly later on. But the very last sentence. I couldn't decide if I wanted to end there or not. But since it was exactly 2:37 in the morning when I posted this I just stopped there.**

**Please review. My heart needs lifting after not recieving the Flashlight update I had been expecting. **


	5. A Note from the Boys

**I am sooo sorry that this update took an obnoxiously long time. School has been absolute hll on wheels this years. The idiots on the administration decided the high school should be run by 'small schools' and ever since they implented this idea my education has gone to the dogs.**

**But moving on, this chapter is dedicated to The Cee Factor and mean-girl123 for sending some very encouraging words and motivating me to write this chapter. It's in Jesse's POV first, then Paul's. We finally get to see what the guys think of this predicament. **

**Disclaimer: Not Meg Cabot, I live where the snow is :) We just got eight inches and a snow day!**

* * *

**(Jesse POV)**

Where does one go when their heart has been broken?

For a ghost, the answers are infinite. I could go anywhere, anywhere at all on this plane or the spiritual one. I could go to Egypt, Mexico, Spain, or this tropical Hawaii Susannah has often spoke off. But I cannot seem to pull myself from this seat.

This simple window seat built for a young girl with a perfect view of the majestic ocean is the only place I can find solace. One hundred and fifty years ago I thought I had felt the worst shame imaginable. At this time a woman had sought to scorn my name and family. She was to be my wife, and she was having relations with another man.

Maria might have been beautiful, strong willed, and proper. But I did not love her. I felt no shard of attraction to her. Her characteristics did nothing to enchant me. The few times I saw her we were allowed only minimal conversation. I knew nothing of the type of person she was, or her feelings for me.

I thought, in my much mistaken heart, that Susannah had true feelings for me. The kiss in her room had meant so much. The feel of her lips on mine, the taste of her breath, had been exhilarating. But it wasn't real. I couldn't feel her warmth, nor could I give off any for her to feel. It wasn't her breath down my throat, but my mind's imagination of what that would feel like.

I can never give her what she truly wants. What she deserves.

Which is why seeing her with Paul Slater at his house – on his _bed_ – hurt me so badly. Slater is one the most manipulative and obnoxious people I have ever had the misfortune of meeting. I hate him with every bone in my body. His self-absorbed attitude is not the way a man should conduct himself.

That is why it kills me to know that he can give Susannah everything I cannot. That such an undeserving boy can receive what I can only dream of. Seeing his lips on her perfect face, his hand on her body – in places no hands should be – and knowing that Susannah wanted it, that she liked it, tore me in two.

_I saw you there last night  
Standing in the dark  
You were acting so in love  
With your hand upon his heart_

I had watched her get ready – leaving her to dress in the bathroom of course - the morning before her elections speech. She was so nervous, her hand shaking as she brushed her hair. I stayed out of her way, not wanting distract her. She left the house looking just as beautiful as always.

I was in the auditorium when she gave her speech. It started out a little rocky, but she quickly found her stride and gave the most persuasive campaign oration I'd ever heard. She had the greatest amount of will power I'd ever seen in anyone. Her ability to drive herself toward a goal – whether it be mediating a particularly violent ghost, or winning student body president for her junior class - Susannah always tried her hardest to succeed.

She didn't notice me standing in the back of the auditorium. Father Dominic did once, sending me a questioning, if nervous glance. He knew how I felt for Susannah, and like me, he knew I could never make her aware of these feelings. Although, kissing her had probably given some of my secrets away.

When the school day was finished I had waited for her to come home. But when she was late I assumed she had gone out with her friends CeeCee and Adam – Adam, now there's a respectable man…a little strange but he would never find himself ranked next to Slater.

However, when Susannah was still not home an hour later I couldn't wait any longer to congratulate her. I focused hard on her face, her voice, her aura, and materialized to her. I had always been able to do this. I do not need Susannah to call me for me to go to her. But I like to allow her privacy and never before wanted to intrude.

When I found myself at Slater's house I was confused. I had followed him home several times in the past after I learned he was back in Carmel. But I never expected to find Susannah here. I _never_ expected to find him on top of Susannah, with Susannah's hands under his shirt and her lips on his and his…hands on her.

_But you were just friends  
At least that's what you said  
Now I know better from his fingers in your hair  
I'll forgive you for what you've done  
If you say that I'm the one_

Shock is the first thing that came to mind. I was sure for a few split seconds that I was at the wrong house. That this was not Susannah, my querida. She would never do something like this. She would never allow a man to touch her this way, to take advantage of her in such a vulgar way.

But my eyes cold not erase the sight they saw. And I could not deny the happiness on Susannah's face – the limited amount of it that I could see with Slater was effectively blocking my view. She was happy with him; she was receiving the attention she wanted. Whatever his motives were – and I'm sure they were less than respectable – Slater was giving Susannah what I could not.

The fact that neither of them noticed me either also added to insult to injury. Susannah had always noticed me. She had always been looking for me. But like so many others, she had forgotten about me.

I left the house shortly after that. I wandered around aimlessly for hours. Susannah was no longer mine. She had never been mine. I had never owned her. It is impossible for any man to own a woman.

But her heart could not have been farther from mine. Any wishes, foolish dreams I may have had about her and me were gone. She didn't want me, didn't need me. And instead of telling me this, instead of explaining her feelings for Slater, she simply left me on the curb.

Susannah is the only girl I have ever felt for. I've been lucky, very lucky, to have her light in the darkness of my damned world. She gave me a reason to…be. I am not alive, but with her, my existence was not so horrid. I did not hate the powers and wicked irony of my God for keeping here for so long.

With Susannah, there was meaning. And now she is gone.

_I've had other options too  
But all I want is you  
Girl, your body fits me like a glove  
And you showered me with words of love_

What do I do now? My heart is broken. The woman I love has feelings for a man who is not I. Irony again, Maria would find this hilarious. I was not meant to be in this world. My existence over the past one hundred and fifty years has been a mistake. I do not belong here.

And I do not belong with Susannah.

_While you were just friends  
At least that's what you said  
Now I know better from his fingers in your hair  
I'll forgive you for what you've done  
If you say that I'm the one_

Slowly I felt anger erupt inside of me. Everything we have done together, all the times I saved her life, all the times she saved mine – or what was left of it – and all the conversations we'd had, the jokes we had shared. How could she just forsake all that and run to him – to Slater! – without even once thinking of me?

Did not think I would find out? Would she have told me if I didn't? Did she plan on lying to me? I thought she cared – at least enough to realize what would hurt me. Why didn't she just tell me? If she told me first, or if she told me at all, maybe I would be able to… No, I wouldn't be able to forget it.

In my rage the mirror on her wall shook so violently that it broke. After all this time, I finally did it. I broke the mirror. The glass shards flew out all over her floor, sending streaks of reflected light to her ceiling. Jagged edges and pointed fragments slowed to halt after sliding across her floor.

_It's not my style to lay it on the line  
But you don't leave me with a choice this time  
Why weren't you true  
You know I, I trusted you _

The disaster of my life, the living and the hereafter, displayed in full glory for everyone to see. But no one was watching. No one saw me, no one cared. This mirror never reflected me. Because I wasn't there. I don't exist. I'm not real.

And she is.

Was there ever a chance for us?

_When you were just friends  
At least that's what you said  
Now I know better from his fingers in your hair  
I'll forgive you for what you've done  
If you say that I'm the one  
You were just friends  
Now I know better from his fingers in your hair  
I'll forgive you for what you've done  
If you say that I'm the one  
I'll forgive you for what you've done  
If you say that I'm the one  
I'll forgive you for what you've done  
If you say that I'm the one  
I'll forgive you_

**(Paul POV)**

Holy shit.

I slumped up the stairs of my house, heading for the bathroom. All the while my vision was swimming in front of me. The walls were fuzzy, the stairs elevating at flocculating levels. Twice I had to grab the railing as I started to tip backwards. When I finally reached the top landing I paused to take a breather. Jesus my head was pounding!

I brought a hand to the side of my jaw, tenderly touching the wound there, which was now covered in heavy bandages. Three hours in the emergency room – half of which I spent sitting next to Sister Ernestine in the waiting room, she actually volunteered to escort me to the hospital! – and I come home feeling worse than I did when I arrived.

Bras knuckles!

Who the fk uses brass knuckles? I didn't know they even made those anymore! Of course I didn't tell Father Dominic or the school nurse that brass knuckles were involved – I just told them I fell and hit my face on the asphalt.

I also left out the part where the brass knuckles were attached to Suze's fist. But the heavy blood flow and my impaired speech had been enough for a trip down to the ER. Three x-rays and five stitches later I was stumbling home, drooling out the sides of my mouth because half my face was numb from anesthetics.

I staggered to the bathroom, throwing a hand up to hit the light switch. Supporting myself with each hand on either side of the counter I took a moment to collect my thoughts. A girl I spent an hour making out with two days ago had just assaulted me. She had mauled my – flawless – face and caused my doctor to subscribe pain medication because he claimed 'eating will be difficult for sometime'.

With reluctance I raised my head to the mirror.

Oh my fking God!

I looked horrible. I am aware that most people assume I am a very conceited person who values looks before almost anything. Now ladies, this is not true. I don't obsess over my looks because I don't have to. I _know_ I look good. But in times of great stress when there has been an unjust act of violence that has caused my face to be disfigured temporarily – it sure as hell better be temporary – I am allowed to become slightly arrogant and dramatic.

Begin very un-Paul like behavior.

My beautiful face! My lovely sculpted jaw! It's black! Black and blue and gooey and gross and covered in a very unattractive white bandage that is now spotting blots of red. I'll never be able to pose for a picture while looking to my left again! And that was my BEST side!

End very un-Paul like behavior.

Deep breaths, Paul, deep breaths. It didn't help that my reflection was fuzzy on the edges, swaying back and forth as my footing was unbalanced. The doctor had injected something near the cut, then given me a pill, saying that was today's first dose of whatever pain relief I was on and that I should take another pill later tonight.

Whatever this medication was, it was making me pretty damn woozy. Everything was spinning. I felt sick, I wanted to drink some water but I could barely open my mouth. There was a throbbing that extended to all parts of my head. I'd been in fights before, I'd been hit before – before Suze it was Jesse's assault on my nose – but this was the worse by far.

I grabbed a face cloth, soaking it in cool water from the faucet then ringing it out so it was damp. With both hands splayed across the wall for support, I made my way to my room. It was slow going and I barely navigated through the door without whacking myself into the frame.

Once inside I fell on to the bed. The horizontal position calmed my vertigo slightly, but I closed my eyes to rid the sight of my ceiling orbiting around the center light. I blindly placed the damp rag on forehead, hoping it might calm my nerves.

After a short pause where I spaced out, slowly feeling the pain diminishing to something bearable I reached down and pulled off my shoes. These sheets were three-hundred thread count cotton percale!

Finally, with nothing to hold me back, I let my mind drift to the thing that was causing me the most pain. The reason for the slight throb of my heart, which had nothing to do with jaw my wound - seeing as they aren't exactly near each other.

Suze.

Why? Why did she do this to me? She's gotten mad before, but I can handle a finger in my eye, and slap on the cheek. This was much worse. This was serious bodily harm. What drove her to do it? Did I say something? Nothing I hadn't said before. How did she go from willingly – and quite happily – sticking her tongue down my throat to shoving her fist through my face?

Well, okay she didn't shove her fist through my face – if she did then I'd be going through traumatic shock right about now.

I just don't understand. Two days ago, not even, we were sitting on this bed, happy, and finally giving into what we'd _both_ always wanted. I know she wanted it too. She can't hide from me, not when she looks at me the way she does when she doesn't think I'm looking. Not when she responds to my kisses the way she does.

The way she did.

God that day was so…great. Feeling her give in to me, finally – FINALLY – being with her – without forcing her – and seeing her smile because of me. It was ecstasy. It was the best feeling I have ever felt. I'll gladly admit it. I am completely infatuated by this girl. My energy, mind, and will all goes into her.

To say that what I feel for Suze isn't real is just bullshit.

But then of course, there is…that other guy. The name I can't even bring myself to think inside my own head. In most cases, I'm against cheating. I know that might be hard to believe, that Paul Slater would abide by any male conduct code, but it's true. I would never play around with a girl if I knew she was going out with another guy – unless she came on to me. But Suze would never come on to me. It just doesn't count with Jesse. He's dead. He's not alive. He shouldn't be here. He doesn't technically exist.

Therefore, I have no problem making out with his '_querida_'.

Why does Suze insist on being with him? It's not like she's with him-with him. I mean, there's no way in hell that Mr. Nineteenth Century is gonna get down and dirty with Suze sans clothing anytime soon. If he ever does I'll fking kill him. He can't give her what she wants. Heck, he can't even give her a cup of coffee.

I can. And I can her give her what she needs.

She needs someone corporeal, and someone who isn't too chicken to give her the physical pleasure she's too shy to ask for but more than willing to receive. I know what makes her sweat. I know how much she loves to have her bare skin slowly caressed. And I know how insecure she is. Under the 'bad ass' image she likes to portray Suze is a very vulnerable person who just has a hard time trusting people.

The only reason she can't seem to trust me is because…because she met Jesse first. My mind wanders to a place it has gone many times before. The 'what if' scenario where Suze met me first. Somehow, someway, if I could have met her before Jesse I know she would be with me now. And I'd be able to hold her, and kiss her, and talk to her whenever I want. I could tell her everything I'd ever felt about her, and I could protect her.

Protect her from throwing her life away for _him._

She doesn't deserve to waste her life with someone who will never love her. Never love her the way I do. Why doesn't she get that? Why doesn't she understand that I would give her everything – everything I could – if she just let me? I'm the guy for her. I'm real and I'm here and I'm offering everything her body wants.

She just can't seem to accept that it's what her heart wants too.

Trying to pull myself back to the present I moved the cloth from my forehead to my cover my eyes. The light that was still blaring in from the sunset acted on my headache, I needed complete darkness if I were to sleep. And sleep was what I needed. Right now, I just need to stop thinking.

When I woke up it was nearly dark. There were a few golden rays left in the sky, giving off a light tint that was still enough to see by. I could hear the TV down the hall, where Pops was watching prime-time game show marathon. I slowly pulled myself up off the bed. My head was straight now, no dizziness, but my jaw hurt like a btch. Apparently it was time to take those friendly little pills again.

I walked over to my desk without having to grab anything for support. At least this was an improvement. Picking up a bottle of water from its abandoned spot on the counter, I swallowed the prescribed amount of pills and ran a hand through my hair. I needed a shower, if the limp locks of sandy gold were any indication.

But, as disgusting as it was, I couldn't shower tonight – the bandages had to stay dry for twenty-four hours before I could redress the cut and bathe. Yes, I voiced my concerns of hygiene with the resident who stitched me up. But he didn't seem too interested in changing his instructions.

I looked at the clock reading 8:35. I couldn't go back to sleep now, just after a nap. I wasn't hungry – plus I don't think chewing is something I should attempt to accomplish until at least tomorrow. I turned to my window, looking at the ocean, as it turned from sea-blue to gold in the last rays of daytime. The endless, naked beach – naked as in the there were no people, not people that were naked, unfortunately – stretched clean and barren until the jetty blocked my sight.

Standing there I became slightly entranced by the hypnotizing movement of the waves. Until I saw someone running on the beach. A figure I knew too well not to identify instantly. From this distance I couldn't be sure, but it looked like she was crying. Her steps were uneven, guiding her in crooked paths as she stumbled forward. When she finally fell I stood there staring.

I remembered the way she looked earlier today – tired, dirty, and broken. Her lip was sporting a deep cut that I tried to avoid tenderly when I kissed her. Her whole face was streaked with tears. Then when she cut her hand…she was a mess. How could she let Jesse do that to her? She was stronger than that.

But still my heart had swelled when I saw her. I just meant to go for a walk during third period – pre-cal, who needs it? – but finding Suze was like finding a present left over from Christmas. I didn't care if she was covered in dirt and bawling her eyes out, I was just happy to see her. Not so happy after she punched me, though.

Looking back down at the beach, I contemplated quietly.

She couldn't see me, but I could see her. What do I do now? Go to her? And comfort her while risking another physical – and emotional – injury. Or should I ignore her, the way she's constantly ignored me until just a few days ago? Do I really mean nothing to her? Was I wrong, did she feel nothing when I kissed her, when she kissed me back?

Is there any chance for us?

* * *

**Ooo, what will Paul do? Will he go to her, help her? Or just let her feel the pain he's been feeling for so long...?**

**Please review! I'll try my very hardest to update soon! Happy Holidays!**


	6. The Brightest Shine

**I cannot apologize enough for the extreme wait on this chapter. My only escuse is that it was excrutiatingly hard to write. Not because of what happens, but because I couldn't seem to make it work in any format that I liked. My original idea for this story tied in with thetitle and supported the story's final outcome. Well, it doesn't really do that anymore. If you're confused, its ok, so am I. I considered deleting this chapter and starting over completely but that would take way too long and I know everyone was already mad at me for not updating in let's see...almost three months! So I bit lip and got through it, for you guys. The ending scene is not as good as I would have liked. I don't like this chapter at all though, because I know its stinky and bad. So I beg you, please read it anyways and I promise the next chapter will be ten times better!**

**On a positive note, I got my Prom Dress today:)**

**I forgot to give a disclaimer to the song used in the last chapter (Jesse's POV). It's called 'Just Friends' by Gavin DeGraw.**

**The song used in this chapter is 'Undiscovered' by Ashlee Simpson. However, she only sings it (when she's not lip syncing). I'm willing to bet money she didn't actually _write_ it.**

**Disclaimer: Meg Cabot would have put out three novels in the time it's taken me to make one lowsy update.**

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I'm so tired of running. Seriously, you'd think my legs would have given out by now. Well, they did. I collapsed after running at least a mile down the beach. You have to give me credit; running barefoot in the sand with no previous conditioning is not easy. I tossed my shoes somewhere a couple hundred yards back. They were slowing me down.

After at least twenty minutes of crying I stopped. I sit now, doing nothing and pretending that my life wasn't screwed beyond belief. The sun is just about gone. The beach is quiet and barren. I can still hear my heart pumping, chasing my pulse.

I lazily drag my hand through the damp sand. Tiny crumbs scrape against my raw skin. My thumb carves a thin line through the grains while my other four fingers produce a thick streak above it. I look down at my creation, a simple form of idle behavior. Then I laugh without humor.

A thin line. There's a thin line between love and hate. You see it in movies and TV shows all the time. Two characters hate each other so much and live for the insults they dish out when really – as one of them soon realizes – they're spending all their energy focusing on this one person whom they claim to have nothing but hostile feelings towards when its just a subconscious cover for their desperate need to be with that person, and near them, and next to them. You hate everything they do, but you're crazy for them to do it.

Like the way I feel for Paul. But I hate how he makes me feel. Don't get me wrong, the good stuff is good, but right now I'm sitting in the sand all alone after spending nearly two days on the run.

Because I can't feel anything for him. I can't give him anything when giving him my heart means breaking some one else's.

I shake the thoughts from my head, just trying to let go and think of nothing. I glance towards my other sketch, the thick line. That's not how the saying goes. There's a thin line between love and hate but there's a thick line between… what? Nothing? Something? What's the purpose of having a thin line to catch you off guard if there's no thick line for you to be sure of?

Whatever. I don't have the mind capacity to even attempt to figure that one out.

Instead, I decide to channel my therapist from New York. Despite the fact that my mother made me feel like a complete sociopath when she signed me up, I amazingly learned something. I learned that when you have a problem, you should go to the root of it.

First of all, my problem seems to center around two people. Obviously those people would be a certain Jesse DeSilva and Paul Slater. Step one is identification. Now that that's over with, I'm not sure what to do next.

This all started when I let Paul drive me to his house after school, two days ago. It was supposed to be an impromptu shifting lesson. Paul promised pizza and managed to coax me into his car with praise of how good my speech had been. I was a little surprised, seeing as I was attempting to overthrow his personal play kitten, Kelly, from her reign as my class's student body president.

But I went with him, nonetheless. Partly because I thought it would be fun. CeeCee was busy after school with the paper, covering the election – but promised to take me out celebrating if I won. And partly because I honestly thought Paul was seriously happy for me.

I wasn't thinking of Jesse then…because Jesse just didn't understand the whole student council thing. He thinks it's juvenile because its not real politics. And after listening to me complain about how much of a popularity contest it is with Kelly, I guess I can't blame him. But still, he didn't say anything to me that morning while I was getting ready, no words of encouragement.

Then when Paul started kissing me, I just…gave in. It seemed rational enough, Jesse was ignoring me ever since that kiss in my bedroom. I felt even more distant from him than ever. Paul was just…there. He was there, and he was willing, and… my god he definitely knew what he was doing.

Out of frustration with myself I threw a nearby pebble forcibly into the water. Sure, Paul was there, willing, but he wasn't Jesse. He wasn't the guy I spent hours thinking of during classes. Or the one who closed my window every night after I fell asleep. He wasn't the one who saved my life numerous times.

But at the same time, Jesse wasn't the one who congratulated me first after my speech. He wasn't the one who told me everyday of the week leading up to elections that I was sure to win. He wasn't the one who told me I was beautiful – continuously, whether I liked it or not. He wasn't the one who knew what my body wanted…needed.

But Jesse wasn't like Paul. He didn't play mind games. He wasn't out for himself. He didn't have an ego bigger than the Pacific. Jesse was a man. He was older, yeah, but also sure of himself. He didn't need the approval of everyone else. Jesse had confidence. And unlike Paul, he didn't get that confidence by demeaning everyone around him. There was maturity in Jesse that Paul could only hope to achieve.

Jesse was just naturally, honestly, and completely a good person. He wasn't a variable. He was a constant - well, up until a few weeks ago. Jesse was like…the perfect man. Never too forward. Never too assuming. He didn't take advantage of anyone, and he was always looking out for other people.

But in way, that's not such a big attribute seeing as he couldn't really look out for himself – he's already dead. It didn't matter if Jesse got stabbed in the head, he can't die twice.

I blinked a few times as the sun rays became blindingly bright. In just a few minutes the sun would be below the horizon and the rays would all disappear. Why did they only reach their most beautiful state – the brightest shine – right before the end?

Tears had been slowly building behind my eyes again. I could not believe the mess I was in. I had basically runaway from home. That wasn't my intention in the beginning. I do plan on going back, I just don't know when. There will be questions and punishments and too much that I can't handle right now.

For the first time since I first moved to California I felt alone. Really alone. The two people that I would call in a situation like this are the two people that caused it. I never realized how much I depend on each of them. How much I knew, in the back of my mind that I could count on either one of them for anything.

Paul said it was because he liked me, and his devotion to prove this had lead to a lot of compromising situations – and positions. With Jesse it was that kiss in my room, and him staying in this world even when he had to the chance to go on. Talk about ironic: Paul would probably die for me, Jesse stayed alive – sort of – for me.

Something was nagging at me, struggling for observation and contemplation. But I kept pushing it away. Deep down, I knew I would have to decide. But I couldn't. It just wasn't that easy. They both offered me so much. But there was one thing that Paul had over Jesse: life. Do I forsake Jesse, simply because he's dead? What kind of person does that make me? Do I feel the way I do for Paul simply because he's alive?

I noticed him walking towards me out of the corner of my eye. I blinked ferociously and fought the tears back as far as they would go. He had seen enough of my weakness. I had to start taking the offense.

"What are you doing here Paul?" I asked, not looking at him as he sat down a few feet away. I guess my previous assault had shaken some fear into him. Great, now he's scared of me.

Maybe it's better that way.

"I really don't know," he replied, his voice soft and blank. That answer was surprising enough that turned to look at him. When I did I gasped in shock. The whole left side of his face was covered in a thick, white bandage. I could see faint red stains where there must be blood underneath.

My mouth hung open in shock. Had I done that? Were brass knuckles really that dangerous? I felt a sting in my chest as guilt crept in. Sure, Paul was an ass that successfully managed to turn my life upside down. But he'd never hurt me physically. I had no right to go and disfigure him.

Slowly I recovered from my shock. Then awkwardness flowed in. What do I say to him? How do I explain everything? How do I describe all the pain that being with him caused me even after all the pleasure it brought? How do I tell him about Jesse? How do I explain what Jesse means to me?

How do I explain that to myself?

Apparently I didn't have to, because Paul started the conversation.

"What did I do wrong?" he asked, still not looking at me. But his posture and the way he shrugged his shoulders showed me that he honestly didn't know the answer. Neither did I. In truth, Paul hadn't really done anything wrong. He just acted on his own feelings…and although I have told him more than enough times that I have no interest in being with him, I kind of didn't tell him that two days ago.

So its not like out little make-out session was non-consensual. But all the same, he knew my feelings for him couldn't have just changed overnight? Right? Paul wasn't that desperate was he? It's not like he couldn't have any other girl in the school.

In a feeble attempt to say something I whispered, "I'm sorry about your chin."

He didn't respond, didn't flinch, and didn't blink. There is the slight chance that he just came down here to sue me for bodily harm. But I doubt it. He knows that he caused me just as much pain. Paul was hidden in his deep green sweatshirt with the hood pull up. I couldn't tell what he was thinking any more than I could figure out my own thoughts.

Being in his presence was, in a way, calming. I'm tired of being of alone. Paul might not be my number one choice for company, but it was nice to know someone cared about me – _still_ cared about me. Paul never gave up.

"I'm sorry Paul," I whispered. There was no use in delaying it. I would have to explain everything sooner or later. For his sake, I might as well do it now. "What happened between us…shouldn't have happened. I shouldn't have gone home with you. I shouldn't have kissed you." I swallowed. Why was this so hard? It was the truth, so why did my heart feel like someone was ripping it out – again?

"I don't know…it was just wasn't right," I continued uneasily, "While I was there… things were good. But later, when I realized what I had done…I couldn't remember why I felt happy. How could I be happy when Jesse had seen? I hurt him so badly. I just…" I trailed off, not knowing what to say.

Paul took it all quietly, starring blankly at the ocean. But I knew he was listening. There was finality to what I had said. To him, that day at this house might have been the reward for the months he'd spent chasing me. For all I know that could have been the best afternoon of his life. I had just told him that to me, it was my biggest mistake.

Five minutes later he turned to me, and leaned over so his face was level and there were only inches between us. I felt heat rise to my face. I didn't want to be this close to him. But instead of shrinking back, instead of getting small, I held my ground and kept my chin up.

"You felt happy because you were," there was no question in what he said. His voice had an edge that solidified the words as facts and not just hopeful thinking. My confidence and sureness gone, I bowed my head, hiding my face. But Paul wasn't done. "And Suze," I looked up, "You hurt me too."

That did it. I could feel the bullet in my chest, the pain constricting around my heart as guilt and regret set in. His face, his eyes – the ice was melted. He was looking at me with complete openness. These were his last words. Paul had nothing left to lose. He just handed me his emotions on a silver platter, naked and vulnerable.

But before I had time to react there was a shimmer behind me. Paul instantly got up and began pacing, shaking his head and avoiding my gaze. I tried to shake the image of his eyes out of my mind – the hopeless pleading, the silent reminder that Paul had been thinking with his heart the whole time.

The shimmer behind me belonged to Jesse. I turned and saw him, crouched down to my level. I looked up into the face I had been dying to see for the past three days. I missed him so badly.

_Take it back, Take it all back now  
The things I gave  
Like the taste of my kiss on your lips  
I miss that now  
_

Jesse knelt so he was in front of me. "Querida," he said, Latin-accented words slid off his tongue like Spanish-flavored chocolate. "I'm so sorry." My head snapped up to look at him. What on earth was he sorry for? I was the one who betrayed _him_.

"I shouldn't have yelled at you the way I did," he continued. "I reacted badly. You should not be sorry for…for kissing Slater. I would never ask you to reframe from doing something that makes you happy."

I hiccupped. No, no Jesse your completely wrong. It was my fault. I'm the bad guy here. Where was my voice? Why couldn't I tell him? There was a lump in my throat. My Jesse, always trying to help me no matter what.

"Susannah, please don't cry. I understand now," he lifted a hand to my cheek and I felt my body temperature rising. "After I left something happened. And – and now I've found a way…"

No. He couldn't mean – not that. Finally my voice was unleashed in rushed pleas, "No, Jesse, please. It's not…it was _my_ fault. I shouldn't have…you had every right to be angry. Please, don't blame yourself. I should have held back. I wasn't thinking. You mean so much to me Jesse. Don't –"

"Querida," his thumb began slow stroking motions up and down my cheek, "It's okay, everything is alright. There's no need to be sorry now." He swallowed, and looked me straight in the eye. "Susannah, I am going to move on."

I feel heavy. Air – too thin. Heat, cold. Very, very cold. Something's in my throat. Black. Blurry. I can't see straight. Head – spinning.

"What?" I croaked, my voice barely audible above the tearing sound in my chest. "What!"

"Susannah," this time both his hands are on my cheeks, but I could barely feel them. "This is a beautiful thing. My time on this earth is long over. I've been stealing space for the past 150 years. And you…I've taken too much from you already. I can no longer be so selfish and play with your heart, keeping you from being the people you want to be with and denying you the feelings of love you deserve."

"No, no Jesse. You didn't -," I tried to explain. I never regretted anything I did for Jesse. How could he say that him moving on was a beautiful thing?

_I can't try any harder than I do  
All the reasons I gave  
Excuses I made for you  
I'm broken in two  
_

"Shh," he tried calming me. "Susannah, the thing that was holding me back… it was love. You care enough about me to put your own happiness second. No one, except my own family, has ever done that for me."

A sob escaped my lips. Jesse was moving on because of me? I caused it? I didn't mean to! I didn't know that was holding him back!

"Oh, querida," Jesse repositioned himself so he was holding me against his chest. It felt so warm there, but I couldn't enjoy it. This could be the last…the last time. "Susannah, when Maria had me killed she felt no pain. She literally broke my heart, but her own heart showed no remorse. That's what was holding me back Susannah. I was willing to give up all my dreams to marry Maria, for my family's sake – before I knew of Diego of course. But she wasn't. Maria wanted nothing to do with me."

He turned me around so I was facing him. Chocolate brown eyes, so sweet and honest looked down into me. "But you, you Susannah, even with your obvious feelings for Paul you cared enough about me to feel guilt, and to force pain upon yourself for hurting me even when you were only acting with your heart. I needed to feel that. I needed someone I cared for to care back, even when they didn't have to."

"Well of course I care about you Jesse," how could he not know that? "I always have." That's not what I want to say. I want to grab him by the collar and scream at him not to go. He can't leave. How can he just up and decide that NOW is the time to move on?

_All the things left undiscovered  
Leave me empty and left to wonder  
I need you  
All the things left undiscovered  
Leave me waiting and left to wonder  
I need you  
Yeah I need you  
Don't walk away  
_

"Don't leave me Jesse," I whispered. After all this time, everything he's done for me…I knew this day would come eventually. But I wasn't expecting it now. I guess I just assumed that if he managed to stay here for 150 years, he could stick around for a few more.

Jesse was my first friend when I moved to Carmel. He was the first thing that made me feel safe. Closing my window at night, waking David to come and rescue me, and keeping Michael Meducci and the Angels from killing me – all those things made me like him more and more. Jesse was a constant. I've said that before.

Now he was doing the most unpredictable thing imaginable.

Jesse was leaving me. He wouldn't be here tomorrow. The past three days he was _absent_. He wasn't really _gone. _He was still here. He just wasn't with me. But I still knew that if I really needed him, he would come. Now though…now he really would be gone. No more Jesse?

_There's a millions reasons why I cry  
Hold my covers tight and close my eyes  
Cause I don't wanna be alone_

I was blubbery and sniffly by the time he finally released me from his embrace. I didn't want him to let go. I wanted to always hold on to him. Why now? Why now, when everything is falling apart?

"Querida," he smiled, so honest and pure and radiating. His was happiness evident. After all this time, his soul finally got to go to rest. "I owe all this to you." Even though these were his final words, I couldn't stop crying.

When I looked up through my blurry tears I saw Jesse, without his glow. There was color in his cheeks, a glint in his eye that hadn't been there before, and a simple, breeze flowed through his hair. He took up space. Jesse was no longer a ghost.

But even as I took in his new appearance, a blindingly white light appeared behind him, blanking out all of the beach and shore. Jesse stood, and I rose as well, maintaining eye contact with him the whole time.

"You freed me Susannah, thank you." With a smile over is shoulder at the door to the beyond, Jesse took one step toward me and leaned in close to my ear, whispering, "I will always be with you." Then he kissed my cheek, a gentle, kiss meant to leave me with his friendship and everything we are to each other.

Then he turned around and, walking with his head held high, stepped into the light. The light pulsed brighter as it enveloped his body, causing me to shield my eyes. But before I looked away I saw Jesse's silhouette, rising into the air…with a pair of wings on his back.

I felt a wave of warmth and content wash over me. Then I lowered my hands and saw the beach, just as it was before, with no sign of Jesse ever being there.

_Cause I'm so in love with what we were  
I'm not breathing I'm suffocating without you  
Do you feel it too? _

I just stood there, starring out the ocean. For a moment, there was no feeling in my body. No thought, no wonder, nothing. My eyes were glazed over and my mind was gone. There was no contemplation or anger or hurt.

Then I crumpled, crying uncontrollably. I could feel my chest convulsing as I sobbed, racking my lungs with uneven spurts of air. My head felt numb. My body felt hot. Everything tasted like salt. There was no sense in anything.

Then Paul was there. And he was holding me. His hand pulled my head protectively against his chest where nothing could hurt me. Another arm wrapped around me and he rocked me back and forth as wave after wave of tears came flowing out relentlessly.

I lost track of time. Even when the cold night air from the beach threatened to attack me and Paul slipped his sweatshirt over my head I wasn't aware of anything happening around me.

I lost a friend today. But he had to go. It was his time. The exhaustion of running for the past three days overcame me and exerted itself with tears. I cried for me, I cried for Jesse. I cried for anyone who ever had to feel this horrible. When I ran out of tears I fell asleep, dreaming of the stars.

_All the things left undiscovered  
Leave me waiting and left to wonder  
I need you  
All the things left undiscovered  
Leave me empty and left to wonder  
I need you  
I need you  
Don't walk away_

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**So there it is. I'm sorry for any pain this may have caused you. I think its my longest chapter yet. There will be one more chapter after this one that will sum up everything thats gone on so far and leave ample questions for the sequel - that I been dying to write ever since I started this fic. So, please review! And Happy early St. Patrick's Day!**


	7. A Thick Line

**Wow, this story has reached its final chapter. I want to thank everyone who read and reviewed this story. Even if you didn't review, thanks for reading. I would like to point out that I did update a while ago, and got little response. was doing some weired things that day so it's possible that the pages didn't load right. If you haven't read the chapter, The Brightest Shine, please go back and read it because you won't understand what's going on in this chapter. :) **

**Once again thank you all. Check out the last chapter if you missed it - it's my favorite one - and look for the sequel which I promise will be way better. This story was just the setup.**

**Happy Summer!**

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I woke up in an all too familiar bed. The sheets were green and the walls surrounding me were gray. Sun light poured in through glass windows. There wasn't a single item littering the floor or one book on the shelf out of place. I was in Paul's room, in his bed.

Thankfully, Paul was nowhere to be found. I rolled over and pulled the blanket up past my head. Glass windows let in way too much sunlight. The light managed to creep through the green material of the blanket. Tiny green peepholes allowed small slivers of lights to push mutedly through. It reminded me of yesterday's sunset, when so much had set on my life.

Jesse left – no, not left…moved on. The day I'd dreaded for so long came at the most unexpected time. But his parting words left the biggest impact on me. He forgave me. He even told me I'd done nothing wrong. While I wasn't sure I could agree with that, knowing we parted on good terms was comforting.

It didn't take away the sting though. The ebbing pinch that I knew was only in temporary remission. The fact that when I went home today, Jesse wouldn't be there. And when the night air blew through my window and chilled my room, Jesse wouldn't close it. Jesse was gone.

Because of me. He said it was a good thing. After one hundred and fifty years of only partial existence, I guess in a way it was a good thing. It just sucked that the good thing for Jesse was a bad thing for me. God how selfish am I? The guy I had cried my heart out over was granted everything he deserved – which was long over due – and I'm here complaining about how it affects me.

Frustrated I blew the blanket off my face and rolled over. I could vaguely remember Paul carrying me up the beach to his house sometime last night when I had cried myself out. I'd been so tired, mumbling incoherent words of sadness. But Paul gently picked me up and brought here – where he must have put me to sleep in his bed.

It was a good thing too, because high tide comes in at night and if I was left alone there, I don't think I would have found the strength to move myself.

I wiped away the tear that had managed to dribble from my eye. Jesse moving on wasn't something to cry about. It was something to celebrate. He deserved this. After years and years of purgatory, Jesse was finally resting where he belonged – in Heaven.

I sighed and swallowed the lump in my throat. Even with my ability to see ghosts, I was not granted the power to bring them back to life. Why then was I allowed to befriend them?

Life without Jesse was going to take some getting used. But even so, I could do it. I had a life before Jesse and I could have life after him. Jesse changed my life, for the better. Now I had to go out into the world and embrace it.

Yeah right.

I groaned, slowly rising from the bed. I stumbled a bit at first, as the blood started pumping in my legs. By the time I was fully vertical the sun was blazing full force into the room. I had to lift my arm to shield my eyes. How Paul managed to withstand this every morning I have no clue. Sure the view was magnificent, but you couldn't exactly appreciate the view if your retinas were burning.

As I moved out of the room my sensibility caught up with me and I realized how awkward this was. The last time I was in Paul's house we'd nearly made it to third base. Now I was creeping silently through his hallways all by myself. There was no pleasure in my being here.

I hesitated at the top of the stairs, not sure if I could handle meeting him down there. After all we'd been through, my feelings for Paul were still confusing. My mind wasn't strong enough to sort them out right now. I'm sure he had a lot of things to say to me, but I had no clue how I was going to respond to any of them.

What do I say to him? Should I thank him for last night? What if he talks first, what if he's mad at me for punching him? What if he says something about Jesse? My God if he so much as mutters an 'I told you so' I'll give a second bruise to match the first.

Taking a deep breath I slowly made my way downstairs. Even the stairs were made of concrete, no carpet, nothing. My bare feet were freezing. I tiptoed towards the bottom. Maybe if I was lucky, he'd be in the living room, or the bathroom and I could just sneak out without him noticing.

No such luck. The stairs ended in the kitchen, where Paul was sitting on one of the stools surrounding the marble top island. His hands were clasped in front of him and he appeared deep in thought. I couldn't help but notice the rumpled state of his hair, yesterday's clothes still on him, or the wide, blazingly visible bandage taking up half his face.

Seeing that made me flinch. Paul might have put me into depression for several days but he never laid a hand on me – in an abusive way of course. I had no right to go and maim his face. He didn't deserve that. Especially when I'd given him no warning, and he'd just been trying to soothe me.

I stepped cautiously into the kitchen, not wanting to disturb him. He looked up the moment my foot hit the ceramic tile. With an expression I couldn't seem to read – as usual – he stared at me. I hesitantly moved closer. Unfortunately, the only way out was to walk past him.

Licking my lips nervously, I ducked my head and exhaled. Facing him like this, with the screaming silence and nothing to divert our attention was like waiting for the guillotine to drop. There was nowhere to hide. But I didn't want to hide, not anymore. The world had thrown everything it had at me, torturing me in every way possible. Now, I was going to fight back.

But first, I had to deal with Paul.

"I'm sorry about that," I whispered, meeting his gaze and nodding to the cut. He went to touch his face, but grimaced when his finger hit the bandage. Instead of replying he just shrugged. I supposed I couldn't expect more than that.

It was amazing that brass knuckles could do that much damage. Speaking of brass knuckles…I looked down at my hand to see it bare and slightly red where the brass had rubbed it. Someone must have slipped them off my hand at the beach.

I look up confused and Paul opened his hands, revealing the strip of copper colored finger attachments. He twiddled it between his fingers for a moment before saying, "You know Suze, I never pegged you for the artificial artillery," his tone was even, no sign of humor or emotion, "I thought you were just bare punches and high kicks."

Looking down I pulled on the sleeves of his sage green sweatshirt, which I was still wearing. My hair was stiff and salty, my eyes crusty from crying. I needed a shower, food, and my bed. My bed that was in my bedroom that had the window seat that Jesse wouldn't be on.

I wanted to go home. But there were still things to tie up here with Paul, at least temporarily. We both had questions. Mostly, I was wondering what to do next. What did Paul want? What could I give? What was I willing to give? After everything that had happened between us, was there room for a second start?

"Paul listen," I began, unsure of what came next. But I didn't need to continue, because Paul did for me. He leaned over and placed the knuckles on the counter in front of me, nodding for me to take them. I stepped back, not wanting their power anymore.

"Suze," he said quietly, refusing to look at me. He was so reversed, closed down, locked up, and hidden. Not your typical let-me-brag-about-myself Paul. He didn't want to talk to me right now anymore than I wanted to talk to him. "I…well, these next few days are going to be hard on you. I get that. I just…maybe when you're feeling better…and…you know what?" he snapped his head up, a finality in his tone now, "Never mind, I'll call you."

My mouth opened. Then closed. I swallowed. At first he sounded almost hopeful. Still, I wasn't expecting him to be so…cold. Not that anything he said was mean. But compared to his usual endless and sometimes pitiful attempts to engage in conversation with me, his short answer of 'I'll call you' was certainly not a normal Paul response.

But I suppose that was fair, considering what I'd done to him. He had every right to end all ties with me now. It was up to him. I just wasn't sure how I felt about that. Someone special had just walked out of my life and I had no control over it. Was I willing to let that happen again?

"Okay," I answered, nodding my head. I stood there for a minute more in silence, rolling on the balls of my feet. After a while of looking around the kitchen – which I knew pretty well by now – I decided it was time to step into the outside world, away from my protectors and start protecting myself.

There was nothing more to say here. We both needed time, to heal our wounds and sort through our heads. By the looks of it, Paul needed a shower just as bad as I did. We couldn't ignore the issues forever, but right now we both needed to be apart.

"I'm gonna go," I muttered quietly, desperate to end the awkwardness. "I haven't been home in a while…"

Paul nodded slowly, going back in to his pensive state. "I'll drive you," he offered, in the same blank voice as he slowly reached for his keys which were hanging on a hook behind him.

"No, it's okay," I told him, "I'd like to walk."

"Are you sure?" he asked. But I noticed that his hand came away from the keys awfully quickly, and he got comfortable again in his chair.

"Yeah," I frowned, "I'm gonna need time to come up with an excuse for my absence." I pushed some of my sandy hair behind an ear and slowly made my way to the door. Paul seemed to rethink our parting method because he got up and started walking toward the door faster than me.

I thought he was going to insist on driving me, which would have annoyed me, but at the same time assured me that he didn't hate me. My hopes were short lived because he paused at the door and bent down to rummage through a basket standing off to the side. He stood with a pair of sport sandals in his hands.

"Here," he held them toward me and I realized I was barefoot. Good thing he caught that because reliving the pains of burnt feet and scabs was not something I wanted to do anytime soon. Especially since no one would be there to care so tenderly for my feet afterwards.

I accepted the shoes and slipped them on by dropping them on the floor and putting my feet in them. "Thanks," I smiled, "now if only I had these before…"

I grinned a little, but Paul just looked at me without a trace of emotion. His apathy stung. I turned away, swallowed the lump in my throat and walked out the door into the sunlight.

O 0 O 0 O O 0 O 0 OO 0 O 0 OO 0 O 0 OO

One thing I learned from this: men's shoes are way bigger than women's. As if the trek uphill to my house wasn't slow going enough, I had to stop every five feet because the sandals kept slipping off. Still, I was grateful to have something between my feet and the burning pavement.

The sun was harsh, now shining brightly at the top of the midday sky. A few cars passed, not a single one slowing down. This was fine by me. I didn't need any interruptions while I tried to sort through everything that had happened in the past few days.

Going home was the first step. By now, I'm sure my mother was sick with worry. I'd skipped two days of school – which I'm sure she was aware of now. And I didn't come home last night, which meant she'd probably called CeeCee and from her, deduced that I hadn't spent last night with her either. I was in serious trouble. Personally, I'm surprised there weren't any lost persons reports circling about me. Although, if there were any, I wouldn't know.

In the end I decided the best thing to do was tell her the truth. Of course, I'd have to leave Jesse out completely, which would complicate things. But at least I could be truthful about the skipping and lying. Despite the obvious need for a cover up story, I really didn't want to lie anymore.

I'd been lying to myself for far too long.

Which brings me to my most pressing dilemma: Paul. Since I moved to Carmel, Jesse was always there for me. But soon after, Paul entered the picture. Paul had never hesitated to tell me the truth, the truth I'd been fearful of since day one: that Jesse and I could never really be together.

Deep down, I'd known that all along, just like I'd known that I felt…something for Paul. But subconsciously, there was no way I was going to allow myself to fall for someone who ruined my dreams with my Jesse, my former heartache.

In a screwed up way, I blamed Paul for the complications between Jesse and me. Maybe I blamed him because he was the first person to say them out loud – but that wasn't fair because he was basically the only person who could see Jesse, besides me and Father Dominic. At the same time, if Paul hadn't reminded me time and time again that Jesse and I would never work, I could have lived in ignorant bliss a little longer.

But what was I living in bliss from? The fact that Jesse as dead and I wasn't? Or the fact that, however small a possibility, I might have confused my feelings of Paul and Jesse? That Jesse was my object of lust and Paul was a possible candidate for…love?

If I really thought about it, Paul was the one who always had my best interests at heart. He knew that Jesse's status of death would hurt me in the long run. He knew what my body needed. He stayed with me on the beach, carried me to his house. He even gave me shoes to protect my feet.

Granted, he was the cause of my feet injuries the first time. But still, if there was a thin line behind love and hate – which I was in danger of crossing – there was definitely a thick line between lust and love.

I was only know realizing which boy resided on which side.

I knew how much it would kill Jesse if I ever acted on my feelings for Paul. But in the end, my feelings won out. Paul kissed me and I kissed him back. Now the only thing that stood between us – Jesse – had moved on. So that left me with a very angry Paul, and mostly likely, a much more angry mother.

I was at my house now, looking up at the large bay windows of my bedroom. My mom's car was in the garage. I could see her through the living room windows, she was pacing, a phone pressed to her ears. When she turned around she could see me too.

Then she was running, running out the door to see me. Hugging me, kissing me, crying. And I was crying too, because I was finally home.

O 0 O 0 O O 0 O 0 OO 0 O 0 OO 0 O 0 OO

I placed my hand on the cold stone, bowing my head. My eyes scrunched up, but I didn't cry. This was not a time of crying, but of remembrance and celebration – celebration of a life finally completed.

I was standing at Jesse's tombstone again, for the last time. This would be my final and proper goodbye. Sun streamed between the trees in the early morning fog and I was reminded that I only had a few minutes left.

So much had happened over the weekend. My mother, after triple checking that I was physically okay and not intoxicated, proceeded to give me the biggest grounding of my life. By the time school got out in two weeks, I would cease to have a social life – not that I had a big one in the first place.

But I think I really agitated her when I refused to give her any explanation of where I had been. I couldn't tell her the truth and I just couldn't lie to her, not after everything I'd put her through. But my mother was fearful that our relationship was going to suffer from my secret – ha, if she only knew half the secrets I keep from her – and scheduled us for several mother–daughter art classes over the summer.

Considering what I did, it's a small price to pay.

So after her interrogation, and after Andy came home from looking for me and proceeded to do the exact same thing, I was sent to my room. Alone in my own head I came to several conclusions, mostly about Paul. I couldn't stop thinking about his face after I hit him, the cut on his chin, and the look he gave me before I left his house. Paul said he'd call me, but I called him. And together, we had a long talk.

Now, before the morning bell at school I was standing in the graveyard. It was Monday, a brand new day. I felt refreshed – both from a shower, and nice meal, and coming to terms with my own feelings. People come and go in life. The ones who leave something behind are the ones who never truly leave you.

"Goodbye, Jesse," I whispered, "and thank you."

I stood still for a few moments, and patted his headstone. Above me the trees rustled. Life was still going on, and I was still part of it.

"Suze, you ready?" a voice asked from behind me, on the path. I turned to see Paul, waiting for me. I smiled at him, and placed the single lily I was carrying on the top of the tombstone. Then I walked over to Paul.

"Yeah, I'm ready," I replied, taking his hand in mine as we made the walk back to the mission, together.

I was ready for anything.

* * *

**Sniff...tear...my first story completed!**

**Hope you liked it. Please review. **


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